


On_Line

by flightlessxbird



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: A LOT of impending smut, AU, Angst, Cybersex, Drug Use, Fluff, Kinky, M/M, Online Romance, S&M, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 15:05:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 30,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1783342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightlessxbird/pseuds/flightlessxbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey Milkovich (known as Mick Toscani by his clients) finally made it out of Chicago to New York, having saved up the money from working as an internet escort for Intercon-X. He couldn't believe how much money people were willing to pay for an hour of detached cyber sex. When his favorite redheaded client video calls him with personal problems, Mickey knows he needs to keep the relationship professional. But things become far from professional when Private Gallagher wants to get together with him outside of a computer screen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Business as Usual

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching this movie I really like called On_Line, so this idea just started and I'm running with it. I'm working on too many multi-chapters buuuuut I can't help it, so I'll update this whenever I can.

                Mickey Milkovich (known to his clients as Mick Toscani) is one of twenty-five internet escorts on Intercon-X. That is to say he's the number one cyber-sex video chatter there is. With him, _anything_ goes, so understandably he has his schedule filled to the brim with clients. There were some weird fuckers online and Mickey catered to them all. Most of them, at least. Even he had boundaries. It wasn't a job he necessarily enjoyed in general, but who wouldn't want to get paid to basically jack off all day? Besides, it paid a hell of a lot more than any job he had in Chicago. So well in fact, that talking dirty to perverts and stroking it all day managed to pay for a plane ticket to New York and his own apartment. And he still had enough left over for costumes and props. Most of his clients were fucking weird and he had to spend the whole session trying not to laugh, but he was a professional. Most of the time.  
  
                He'd just finished his appointment with a guy who had a food fetish (that is, he always made Mickey spread nutella over himself) and he was starving because of it. He took a shower first to wash off the nutella before returning to his computer where he saw he was receiving a video call. It was  5:00 PM, he had no sessions at 5:00 on Thursdays. Upon sitting in his chair he saw that it was his favorite client. The only client that actually turned him on and made his job worth it. The only client who actually made him come instead of laugh. Private Gallagher. He wasn't a real private in the army as far as Mickey could tell, but his uniform said Gallagher and god knows how much time Mickey spent trying to figure what that first name was, while he generally referred to him as Firecrotch. Things were usually straight forward with Private Gallagher. They had their sessions, sometimes doing military role play, and it was done. No pillow talk, no 20 questions. It wasn't a date; it was a fabricated screen fuck. A fantasy, and most people didn't want to get too accustomed to their fantasy being real.  
  
                Although this wasn't their scheduled time, Mickey picked up the call anyway. The vibrancy of Gallagher's hair was almost distorted by his camera. He thought with amusement that his hair must have been too bright for the camera though it seemed pretty high quality.  
  
                "Hey, Gallagher. This isn't our normal time," Mickey said, reaching for the army jacket and cap he kept nearby. "But I guess I got time."  
  
                "I'm not... I just want to talk, if that's okay." Gallagher looked more than distraught. Mickey looked closer and noticed his eyes were red and puffy, and he wasn't wearing his army outfit today. Mickey didn't talk to his clients unless it was what they pay him to talk about. But given Gallagher's distress, he thought he could make an exception.  
  
                "Sure," Mickey twirled around in his chair as he watched Gallagher rub at his eyes. "Shoot."  
  
                "Did you ever think you're going to be alone forever so you might as well give up?"  
  
                Mickey didn't want to talk heavy shit like that when he was practically starved and still relaxed and wet from his shower. But a heavy question deserved a heavy answer.  
  
                "You think I'd be here doing this kind of work if I didn't?" Mickey gestured to the shelf of toys and props behind him, his eyebrows trying to befriend his hairline. That got a little snort out of Gallagher.  
  
                "Young, hot guy like yourself? I don't know if any guy could resist you."  
  
                "Yeah, well. Everyone I meet is either _too_ gay, not gay at all, or just flat out doesn't like me. Besides" Mickey pulled out a cigarette and lit it up, looking into the camera, "I don't really date."  
  
                "Ah, of course. I guess you wouldn't, being in this line of work." Gallagher played with his hands nervously. Christ, he looked so young. Especially without his army uniform on.  
  
                "How old are you, Gallagher?"  
  
                "18," Gallagher said, though it sounded more like a question waiting for approval. Mickey cocked an eyebrow and pressed him with his gaze.  
  
                "Fine," he sighed. "17." Mickey snorted. 17. The kid wasn't even legal yet. Then again, Mickey only turned 18 about six months ago. "You're not gonna stop seeing me, are you?"  
  
                "Nah man, don't worry about it. You're closer to my age than any of my other clients."  
  
                "Yeah, so are you..." Gallagher mumbled, and elaborated when Mickey gave him a confused look. "Let's just say it’s hard to find guys my age here. So I take what I can get.” Mickey gave an ‘ah’ of understanding and held up a finger as he got up to quickly put a few pizza bagels in the oven. As much as he wanted to help Ian, he was still really fucking hungry. Not even the hottest redhead could keep him from his damn pizza bagels. When he sat back down, Gallagher was raking his fingertips through his shorn hair.

                “So what brought all this on? Tired of only getting dick through a computer screen?” Mickey reclined back in his chair and rested his hands behind his head, looking into the camera rather than at Gallagher.

                “Not really. Just found out the guy I’ve been seeing is my older sister’s boyfriend’s dad.”

                Mickey felt his stomach lurch with this news. Gallagher wasn’t like his most of his other clients; that is to say he’s not in the closet, married or otherwise in some kind of fake relationship with a woman. So of course he’d assumed he was seeing Mickey because he wasn’t getting laid. He shouldn’t have assumed anything about this guy he didn’t even know outside of his cock size and kinks. He didn’t have the right.

                “If you got a boyfriend, why do you set up appointments with _me_?” The jealousy in Mickey’s voice was more apparent than he’d meant it to be. He glanced back at the screen to see Gallagher cocking his eyebrow with a bemused expression.

                “Did you really just ask why I choose to see an 18-year-old with an ass I can’t stop thinking about even though I’m seeing an old married guy? I never said he was my boyfriend, just that I was seeing him.” Gallagher seemed to be relishing in Mickey’s jealousy. Mickey just narrowed his eyebrows and directed the conversation away from that particular topic.

                “So what do you think you’re going to do the rest of your life then? Considering you think you’re going to be so alone.”

                “I don’t know,” Gallagher shrugged. He twiddled his thumbs in thought and looked into the camera which made Mickey’s heart halt for a moment. It was almost like Gallagher was looking right at him.

                _Fuck, no. Can’t think like this about a client._

                Mickey shakes his head mentally and watches as Gallagher is pulled from his thoughts by a decision.     

                “Maybe I could be a vet, or work a zoo. Something with animals, so I don’t have to deal with… _people_.”

                The word “people” was said with such distaste that Mickey had to laugh. “ _People_ bring pets to vets, and _people_ go to zoos every day. You’re kind of fucked there, copper cock.” Mickey grabbed the bottle of Jameson and the glass next to his computer monitor and poured himself a drink. A dry laugh came from the redhead’s lips and he sniffled.

                “Where are you from anyway, since there’s such a lack of men.” Mickey dug his nails into his palm, realizing he’d crossed a line. He shouldn’t even be talking so earnestly with this kid, much less asking where he lived.

                “Chicago. South side.” Mickey’s heart sank for the kid. The south side was his home, and he knew too well that being gay and looking for guys was a near impossibility. Half the time guys were actually gay, and the other half they were just luring people out so they can beat them up. Mickey had experienced this several times during his stints in juvie. It wasn’t the most fag-friendly area in the world.

                “Sucks, man. But I’m sure if you take the El to Boystown and look around long enough, you’ll find a guy your age.”

                “Thought you were from New York?” Gallagher asked with a little smile. Mickey bit his lip.

                “No, I moved here a few months ago. I’m from Chicago.”

                “At least you got out…” Gallagher muttered. He leaned back in his chair and looked at the camera once again. “I’d love to visit New York someday.”

                “You should,” Mickey added jokingly as he finished his drink, “we could go to the zoo.”

                “Really?” Gallagher grinned wide and sat up, staring directly into the camera with a shy glint in his eyes. “Spring break starts next week. Maybe we should get together?”

                Mickey’s blood froze in his veins despite the warmth from his drink. How did this happen? How did he lead his client on to think it was okay to meet up?

                “Ian!” Mickey heard someone yelling distantly in the background from his speakers, and Gallagher sat upright quickly.

                “Gotta go, I’ll talk to you later.” The video call was terminated and Mickey was left staring wide-eyed at his screen. What the fuck had he just gotten himself into?


	2. I Dare You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys seek advice from their friends, and Ian decides he's going to get to New York one way or another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe the response I got on this so quickly, thank you so much! PS in this fic, Mandy doesn't know that Mickey works for Intercon-X, but she knows he's gay.

"A guy? You met a guy!?"

                Mickey chewed furiously on a pizza bagel, staring at the short list of contacts on his computer. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he only had three friends (one of which was his sister) but it pissed him off because it limited the quality of advice he could receive. There was no way he was going to talk to Mandy about this. She wasn’t even supposed to know he was gay. And there was no way in _hell_ that he was going to talk to the guy who ran Intercon-X. That only left him with his last resort.

                "Is he cute?"Roger Spikey grinned with more fervor than Mickey would have liked. He groaned and laid his head back against the headrest of his chair.

                “He’s not unattractive…” Mickey hated Roger sometimes. It was nice to get advice, but ever since he came out and left Chicago he acts more like a chick. It was fucking gross.

                “He must be cute to shake _you_ up.”

                “Tight young body, hung like a horse, lives in the south side; notwithstanding.” Mickey pressed the heels of his palms into his temples. What ever compelled him to ask this douche for advice?

                “Mick you are so fucking cute right now, when are you gonna meet this guy?”

                “Hey fuckhead, I don’t see clients, remember?”

                “You don’t see anyone, you goddamn grump.”

                Mickey shot Roger a glare which five years ago would have made the little prick shit himself. But now that he thought he was the Milkovich’s best friend or something, he just laughed it off. Mickey saw his own face in the camera and he saw how grumpy he really looked. His eyebrows were furrowed and his teeth were practically bared. He shoved another pizza bagel in his mouth, rocking back in his chair.

                “Did you ever think that maybe this was meant to happen?” Roger continued, despite Mickey’s intense scoff. “Like, maybe even _God_ thinks you need to get laid.”

                “I am not gonna meet some stranger for sex, people don’t do that Spikey, _normal people_ don’t do that—“

                “Woah woah, hold on. I hope you’re not under the impression that you’re leading some kind of healthy, normal lifestyle here. You need to meet this guy!” Roger gasped with a realization and sat up in his chair. “Wait a minute. Is this the Private? Holy shit, you’re gonna fuck the Private!?”

                “No!” Mickey shouted. “I’m not fucking anyone. _Especially_ not Gallagher.”

                “Wait, Gallagher? Private Gallagher? As in _Ian Gallagher,_ the ROTC kid!? Oh my fucking God! Why wouldn’t you fuck him, Mickey if you don’t do this I swear to God—“

                Fuck that. Mickey exited the video call. He let out a heavy sigh and leaned back in his chair. Fucking Roger Spikey. Why the fuck would he ever ask him for advice? It was a dumbass move, for sure. Mickey leaned over and poured himself another drink, downing it in one gulp. His eyebrows arched when he heard his computer ping with an IM.

                **[5:37:14 PM] Spikey: I DARE YOU.**

~~~~~~~~

                Ian chewed furiously at his nails. Why had he thought it was okay to suggest he could visit Mick? He didn’t know him. For all he knew, Ian could be an axe murderer. Hell, for Ian knew _Mick_ could be an axe murderer. Shit. He shouldn’t have been feeling anything at all for him. He was an internet escort, not his boyfriend. He had other clients, a life of his own. What the fuck was so special about Ian? And why the _hell_ couldn’t he think straight? He’d been sitting at his computer on this shitty suicide chat site for the last 30 minutes and he couldn’t stop crying and he just didn’t know why. His stomach churned so painfully that he had to excuse himself from dinner, much to Fiona’s worry. He told her not to worry, even though not a few minutes later he was sitting at Final Exit and rocking back and forth. Just what the fuck was wrong with him?

                “Ian?” Ian’s eyes snapped up to the camera feed in the lower right corner where Mandy sat drinking a beer.

                “I’m gonna fucking do it Mands, I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and I swear to fucking god I’m gonna—“

                “Ian.” Mandy’s firm tone shut Ian up quick. “You’re not gonna kill yourself. Now why you don’t you call me, and tell me what’s wrong.” She was easily heard over the other voices in the chatroom, and though Ian was set on his plans he did as she said. He muted the site and opened his contact list, calling Mandy and trying to keep his cool.

                “Okay, so what’s wrong?” Mandy had switched from her usual hood girl demeanor to something a little sweeter.

                “I just… I thought that… When God made you a fag, he was supposed to install a gaydar as part of the standard options package.” Mandy chuckled softly and Ian continued. “Well, either mine doesn’t work, or I’m the only under 40 queer in all of Chicago.” Ian let out a shaky sigh and reached for his bag of pills. He popped a few in his mouth, aware now that he’d forgotten to take them this morning.

                “I’m sorry, how many pills was that?” Mandy raised her eyebrows at him incredulously. Ian couldn’t but think of Mick when she did.

                “Don’t worry, it’s just the usual.” Mandy gave him a skeptical look before finishing her drink.

                “So, what exactly happened?”

                “Before or after I found out Ned is Jimmy-Steve’s dad?”

                “ _What?”_

“Yeah,” Ian ran his hands through his hair. His scalp was sensitive now, he’d been running his fingers through his hair all day. “So I broke it off because fuck if I’m gonna fuck my sister’s boyfriend’s dad. That’s just… no.”

                “So that’s it? No more Ned, no more Kash… Who’re you gonna fuck now then?” Mandy smiled a little teasingly.

                “Apparently, no one. I went to Boystown straight from the restaurant and went to a couple clubs…”

                “And? No prospects?”

                “Oh, plenty of prospects. None of which I’m going to fuck. I think I’m done hanging out in the geriatric ward.”

                “Good for you, you deserve a young power bottom.” She winked and grinned wide as she finally made Ian smile as well.

                “About that… I called that Intercon-X guy that I’ve been seeing.”

                “You _always_ call him.”

                “Yeah but I… I said we should meet.”

                “And?” Mandy shot straight up, her grin only growing wider. “Are you gonna meet?”

                “I-I don’t know. He looked like he was about to say no, and then I had to go. Hopefully he just forgets about it.”

                “Ian, I’m your best friend. And as your best friend, I promise you I will never talk to you again if you don’t meet this guy.”

                “Mandy—“

                “No fucking excuses. Now get back on Intercon-X and make sure you _fuck_ this guy!”

                The video call was ended and Ian was left with a sinking feeling in his stomach. There was no way he could do this. But if he _were_ to do it… He was going to have to make sure that not only would Mick want to see him, but he’d _need_ to see him. Ian put away his bag of pills and rushed to lock his bedroom door. He was lucky he was alone in the house tonight besides Liam and Debbie, but they were in their own room far too busy to be concerned with Ian. He unbuttoned his shirt halfway and dropped back in the chair, logging on to Intercon-X and searching for Mick’s page. Ian was going to make Mick crazy until _he_ was the one begging to meet.


	3. Stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian is determined to make Mickey the one who's desperate to meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep this is just pretty much where the smut truly begins. PS I'm not the best at smut but I try.

                Mickey had just finished his pizza bagels and his third glass of Jameson that evening when his computer rang out with the alert of a video call. He was confused by his earlier conversation with Gallagher, whose first name seemed to be Ian, and he was pissed off that he hadn’t been able to come all day despite having had six appointments earlier. He’d managed to convince his clients he came without ejaculating which of course did happen to some people especially after a lot of orgasms, but Mickey was just so turned off by all of them that it was a miracle he was hard at all. So he wasn’t up to deal with bullshit right now. With great trepidation, he answered the call. He was surprised to find Ian sitting back in his chair, spinning it from side to side with a very serious air.

                “Sorry about leaving so fast, my sister called me down for dinner.” A smile twitched at Ian’s lips before he added, “she just left with her boyfriend though.”

                “Don’t worry about it.” Mickey watched Ian in the screen, trying to figure him out. His eyes wandered down the delicious valley of pale, freckled skin that showed through where his shirt had been unbuttoned.

                “I’m gonna get a drink, so I’ll be right back. Why don’t you get one for yourself?” Ian smirked and stood, heading out of his bedroom. Mickey’s eyebrows were raised so high they were starting to hurt as it became apparent that Ian wanted a session. He did as Ian said, pouring himself a glass of wine instead of the Jameson. One more glass of that and he’d be too drunk to remember whatever it is Ian was about to do. And he had a feeling he was going to want to remember it. He sipped at the wine until Ian came back. The way he walked over to the computer, so slow and deliberate, made Mickey’s dick twitch. Ian held a glass of what he could only assume was vodka, and pulled a cherry out of the drink.

                “I brought this for you,” Ian held up the cherry and dangled it before the camera, his smirk turning into a fake pout. “If only you could taste it.” Ian teased him by licking the cherry slowly, then taking it between his teeth and pulling it free from the stem. Mickey could see that his teeth punctured the fruit, vodka and cherry juice dripping down the redhead’s chin. Ian chewed the cherry as deliberately as he’d walked into the room, his tongue flicking out to catch the juice at the corner of his lips.

                “Do your clients usually ask you to masturbate?” Ian asked.

                “Yeah I mean that is kind of what I do for a living,” Mickey tried to sound annoyed but it had no bite.

                “So tell me, Mick. Do you ever actually come? I mean, I know you spend all day seeing clients and stuff but do you ever really get off?” Ian took a swig of his vodka and set the glass down gently, his eyes moving to stare into the camera.

                “Sometimes,” Mickey admitted, already painfully hard in his jeans. Fuck, why the hell did he put these jeans on? They were old and barely fit him.

                “How many times a week, would you say?”

                Mickey thought carefully about his answer, slowly unbuttoning his jeans in the meantime. “We have three sessions a week right?” Mickey asked, continuing when Ian nodded. “Then about three times a week. Sometimes more, if I think of you.” That elicited a grin from the younger boy, but it wasn’t quite his usual puppy-dog grin. It was dark and smug, full of intent.

                “Tell me about the first time. The first time that you came," Ian demanded and Mickey chuckled, reaching into his jeans and pulling out his hard on.

                “How old were you?” Ian’s voice had dropped nearly an octave to a low, almost moaning of his words.

                “11, 12. Somewhere around there.” Usually by now, Ian would have been stroking himself with the brunet but he wasn’t, he was just watching Mickey as he sipped his vodka.

                “Tell me how it happened.”

                “We were um… Taking a school field trip. I wanted to ignore the people I didn’t like, which was everyone, so I sat up front with the teacher.” Mickey couldn’t help but smile a little, biting his lip at the memory as he touched himself.

                “He was tall, strong hands and thighs and I just…” He elected to leave out that the teacher was ginger, not wanting Ian to think he had a thing for redheads. “I started getting that feeling, you know? The heat rushing from my chest to my stomach, straight to my dick…” Mickey trailed off, pleasure blocking his vocal chords as he watched Ian watch him.

                “What happened then?” Ian cocked an eyebrow, gesturing for him to go on.

                “I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to run, I wanted to hide, but I couldn’t. I had to just sit there. And the day before my uh, my mom got me some new jeans that just didn’t fit me, they were way too tight.” Mickey half-snickered, half-moaned, “And the bus was so _bumpy_ , I knew no one would notice me moving a little. So I put my jacket over my lap and held onto the seatbelt, started moving my hips to adjust myself but… fuck… it just made it worse…” Mickey was fighting to keep his eyes open, but the way Ian was looking at him and listening to his story was getting him way too hot. He had to look. He sped up the pace with which he was stroking himself. He watched as Ian wet his lips and watched him.

                Ian wet his lips and leaned close to the camera. “Are you close?”

                “Yeah,” Mickey breathed, his eyes falling shut.

                “Yeah? Are you gonna come for me, Mick?”

                “Fuck, yeah,” Mickey groaned out, right at the edge.

                “Yeah? Then _stop_.”

                Mickey’s eyes flickered open and it took a moment before the dots obscuring his vision passed and he could see Ian clearly.

                “ _What_?”

                “Right now. Put your hands on the wine glass, both hands.”

                “But I—“

                “Do what I tell you, you can get off on your own time.” Ian leaned back in his chair, his expression suddenly very dark. Mickey narrowed his eyes at him as he buttoned his jeans back up and placed both hands around his glass. He was the hardest he’s ever been in his life, and his tight jeans were actually hurting him.

                “You know, you’re a little weird,” Mickey said, an attempt at being ambivalent towards his raging hard on.

                Ian unbuttoned the rest of the buttons on his shirt, pushing it open and turning the camera down a bit so that Mickey could still see his face, but could also see that his cock was already freed from his pants, hard and twitching. Mickey’s own dick throbbed painfully in his jeans which made him wince. His hands were trembling around the wine glass as he watched Ian stroke himself, he could nearly see the precome that he was spreading around the head with his thumb. Mickey glanced down to see that he was already leaking through his jeans. He moved his hips slowly, hiding the soft moan of triumph when the material of his jeans rubbed against his dick.

                “I like knowing that you have to come. I like that look on your face.”

                “Asshole,” Mickey interrupted with a low groan.

                “The look you get when you need to come so badly, you’ll do _anything_.” There was a bit of silence as Mickey rocked his hips and watched Ian’s hand pumping his own dick faster.

                “You’re doing it now, aren’t you?” Ian asked, a little smile teasing at his lips.

                “Yes.” Mickey breathed, figuring if Ian had noticed he might as well not try to hide it. The chair made small squeaks as he rolled his hips up desperately.

                “You’re fucking against your jeans but that’s just not enough.”

                “No…” Mickey chewed on his bottom lip, his eyes shut tight.

                “It’s never enough, is it Mick?” It wasn’t hard for Mickey to catch the double meaning in what Ian had said. He opened his eyes and looked up directly into the camera, hoping to convey his next message as effectively as possible.

                “No.”

                “Of course not. Poor Mickey. I watch you, and I wonder how often you really _come_ ,” Ian’s voice came out breathy and growly and Mickey wanted to imagine that he could feel his warm breath along his neck and at his ear. “You’re the best lover you’ve ever had. No one can make you come like you can.”

                “No, no one,” Mickey moaned out despite his dislike for it, thinking it made him sound like a bitch. But right now, he couldn’t help it. He was leaking all over his jeans and his breath was coming out in quick pants.

                “No one except for me, right now.” Ian licked his lips, long and slow. “I can let you squirm all night, or I can make you come so hard.”

                “Ian…” Mickey muttered in desperation.

                “You wanna use your hands?”

                Mickey quickly found himself in a position he never thought he’d be in; begging.

                “Yes, please, _please_ ,” Mickey moaned out, using every ounce of restraint he had to keep his hands on the glass. Wine was splashing around inside and he thought he was about to lose it. " _Please_?"

                “Oh fuck,” Ian groaned, “I’m gonna fucking come, Mick… Fuck it, go for it.” Mickey retracted his hands from the glass so quickly he sent it flying to the floor, shattering and spilling wine everywhere, but he couldn’t care less right now. He managed to rip a button clean off his jeans as he hurried to undo them, pulling his cock out and fucking his fist immediately. Mickey couldn’t believe the way he was acting right now. He was writhing and moaning and mewling and whining and fucking _whimpering_ Ian’s name until both boys came simultaneously, Ian’s load shooting up onto his bare chest and Mickey spilling out over the chair and keyboard. Never in his life had Mickey had an orgasm like that. His chest and face were flushed and his hands were shaking, and he watched as the redhead on his screen wiped his own come from his chest and sucked it from his index finger. He was panting and he let his head fall back against the chair, a tired and triumphant grin spreading across his face.

                Mickey was sure he’d made a decision on the meet-up after Spikey dared him; a firm hell no. But as he watched Ian swivel around in his chair slowly in expectation, Mickey found that words were already spilling from his quivering lips.

                “So when do we meet?”


	4. Good Boys Get Rewarded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian gives Mickey a task; he's not allowed to come until his visit. The first night of their visit takes an interesting turn when a client calls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could take a class or something on writing smut dammit. Anyway, I'm so glad so many of you are liking this :) From here on out it gets hella kinky. Plus I didn't edit this chapter too much so sorry if there are any mistakes.

                Much of the week before Ian’s trip to New York went similarly to the evening they’d decided he should visit. For the three sessions they had that week, Ian had gotten Mickey right to the edge and found some way or another to make him wait. Except Thursday, three days before Ian was to visit. Mickey hadn’t been expecting the video call yet again for as previously mentioned, he had no appointments after 5 pm on Thursdays. He accepted without complaint upon noticing it was the redhead. The call went much like the others, except Mickey was even hotter for Ian in anticipation of his visit. Last Thursday night, he’d wanted Ian desperately. By now, he _needed_ him. Mickey groaned out at the loss of his hand when Ian made him stop touching himself again. His fingernails were digging into the sides of the chair, he was so close to the edge.

                “Fuck Mick, such a good boy for me,” Ian’s head fell back against the headrest and he was writhing in his chair, thrusting up into his fist. Mickey begged and begged, but Ian just wouldn’t allow him to come. The worst part was he wasn’t wearing anything, so he couldn’t use the material of his jeans like the first time. His breath was stuck in his throat and his stomach was churning violently with arousal.

                “Please Ian, I need to come, please…” Mickey’s voice had dropped to a low mewling he found he was unashamed of, he needed to release that badly. But Ian was only further turned on by Mickey’s pleas and let out a heavy moan as he spilled out over his hand. Mickey was only making his arousal worse by wishing Ian had come inside of him.

                “Please…” He whimpered.

                “No,” Ian growled, riding out the orgasm and staring into the camera. “You’re not going to come, not even once, until I get there. Do you understand me, Mick?”

                “Fucking asshole,” Mickey hissed and sat back in his chair, his whole body on fire.

                “I asked, do you understand me?” Ian’s eyes had gone dark and Mickey gulped.

                “Fine.”

                The next three days were torture. He didn’t see any of his clients, wanting to do as Ian had told him. He knew he could rub one out at any time and Ian would have never known, but he couldn’t. As much time as Mickey spent pretending to be dominant for many of his clients, he’d always loved to be dominated; this was exactly why Ian was always his favorite client. His craving for the kid was insatiable and by the time Monday night rolled around, Mickey was a mess. He’d cleaned up his apartment and cancelled appointments with any clients he could get a hold of, and spent the twenty minutes he should have been using to contact the rest of his clients to figure out what he was going to wear when he picked Ian up at the bus station. Almost everything he had was old and torn. He finally settled on a tank top that only had one rip in the side and threw on his coat and an old pair of jeans. You know, clothes that were easy to pull off once they made it back to the apartment. One last scan around the room to be sure everything was in order before Mickey finally left. He didn’t know why he was acting like such a girl. He was meeting a kid for two weeks of sex and showing him around New York, not trying to get him to marry him for Christ’s sake.

                The closer he got to the bus station, the harder his heart pounded against his ribs. His breath was labored as he saw that the bus had already stopped and passengers were walking out. He hung back to avoid getting caught in the mix of families kissing cheeks and hugging. The bust was emptying out quickly and Mickey felt a rock in the pit of his stomach, wondering if this had been some joke and Ian wasn’t really coming. But a flash of red through one of the front windows caught Mickey’s eye, and he wet his lips in anticipation. He practically skipped out of the bus, a big lopsided grin plastered on his face as his eyes roamed around the city. He was carrying a huge army duffel bag and _fuck,_ he looked damn good. He was wearing a tight, camouflage muscle shirt under his jacket as his eyes searched the crowd for Mickey.

                “Gallagher!” Mickey shouted, holding up a hand to wave him over. Ian followed the voice and made eye contact with Mickey, making the brunet’s dick twitch. No, there was no way he could be this excited already. He’d barely been five feet from the kid. Ian made his way through the mass of people to where Mickey was standing at the corner. He was even better looking in person; his hair and eyes were so vibrant and his lithe yet muscled build. And fuck, he was tall. Mickey had to look up at him when he got closer.

                “Mick Toscani?” Ian asked with a smirk, though he knew exactly who he was.

                “Not my real name,” Mickey muttered, reaching for Ian’s duffel to carry it for him. Their fingers brushed momentarily as he took it from Ian and threw it over his shoulder.

                “Really?” Disappointment flashed in Ian’s eyes, making Mickey scoff. He cocked his head toward the sidewalk and started leading him to his apartment.

                “Yeah right, like I’m gonna use my real name on that site. You can still call me Mickey, which is my real name. Toscani isn’t.” Ian was walking dangerously close to Mickey’s side, electricity running up his arm despite the layers of clothing.

                “Why Toscani?”

                “You ever seen Above the Law?” Mickey cocked an eyebrow at Ian with a smile. Above the Law was one of his favorite Seagal movies, an actor he practically worshipped. It was easy for him to choose his escort name, calling himself after the main character Nico Toscani. Seagal was a fucking badass. Ian didn’t seem to think so, though, by the way he snickered. Mickey elbowed him in the side with a roll of his eyes.

                “So what’s your real last name?”

                “You really think I’m gonna tell you that?”

                “Aw, come on,” Ian whined. “You know my name.”

                “You’re not the escort, you’re the client. I’m supposed to know your name.”

                “Please?”

                “Fuck off, I’m not telling you my name.” Mickey huffed and opened the gate that lead into the stairs up to his apartment, which was really more like a loft. Once they were inside, Ian took off his jacket and laid it on the back of Mickey’s couch. As Mickey locked the front door, he had to take a moment to appreciate Ian’s body now that he could see it in person. The muscle shirt he was wearing hugged his biceps tight and rode up a little when he leaned over the couch to look around.

                “Nice place,” he said with a grin. Mickey was bouncing from foot to foot. He’d been waiting more than a week for this, and Ian was sitting here calmly commenting on his apartment. Ian rolled over the back of the couch so he could lie on it. Mickey tossed his jacket to the floor and set Ian’s bag down, walking around the side of it to cross his arms in front of the relaxing redhead.

                “Well?” Mickey prompted.

                “Well what?” Ian’s smirk grew and his eyes fell to Mickey’s crotch. Mickey’s hardness was obvious, but by the slow way Ian’s eyes travelled over his body Mickey knew he was in for a long night.

                “Are you fucking kidding me? I haven’t come in almost four days, and you’re gonna sit there and blue ball me?” Mickey’s fists clenched and his teeth ground together, feeling self conscious as Ian appraised his body.

                “Keep using that tone with me, and I’ll make sure you never come again.” Ian’s voice dropped the way it did when their sessions began, and Mickey felt himself straining against his jeans. “I just haven’t decided what I’m gonna do with you yet.” Mickey opened his mouth to protest but knew better than that.

                “What did you have in mind?” Mickey asked quietly.

                “Well, I was thinking—“ The ringing of a video call came from Mickey’s computer and the brunet felt as though he were going to throw the computer against the wall.

                “Sorry, I’ll just reject the call.”

                “No no,” Ian said, standing up and heading over to Mickey’s keyboard. Before Mickey could stop him, he’d already accepted the call.

                “Mick?” A confused voice came from the speakers when the client saw the redhead instead of his usual escort. Mickey recognized him as the food fetish guy, Adrian. Mickey stepped into view of the camera beside Ian.

                “He’s right here,” Ian said cheerfully. He pulled Mickey to sit between his legs. Mickey felt frozen. He had no idea what would happen, and he was scared he’d lose his client. The guy paid at least half his rent each month.

                “You have a boyfriend, Mick?”

                “He’s not my boyfriend,” Ian wasn’t letting Mickey get a word in edgewise to explain, and tangled his fingers in Mickey’s hair to pull his head back harshly, licking a long stripe up the vein going up his neck. Mickey shivered under his touch. “Mick’s my good boy. Aren’t you Mickey?” Mickey didn’t want to risk losing his client, but he wasn’t about to say no to Ian.

                “Yes,” Mickey breathed.

                “Good,” Ian growled into his ear, turning his attention back to the screen. He read the name on the contact with a grin. “So, Adrian. Do you want the both of us for tonight?” Mickey waited to hear Adrian get pissed off and end the call, but all he heard was a resounding “yes” from the speakers.

                “What do you want us to do for you?” Ian asked, grazing his teeth along the same vein on Mickey’s neck he’d licked earlier. Within ten minutes, Mickey was laid out on the floor with several food items set beside him. Ian had taken the webcam from its mount on Mickey’s monitor and set it down on the floor next to them, making sure it captured both their bodies. Adrian had instructed Ian to cuff and blindfold Mickey. Ian found both items among Mickey’s shelf of toys and props, cuffing his wrists behind his back and putting the blindfold on him. Adrian pretty much let Ian do his own thing with the food while he watched him. Mickey found that his lack of sight enhanced his other senses. They were both naked now, and Mickey could practically smell the other man’s arousal in the air. He heard a rustling of plastic around his crotch and his body tensed as he realized Ian must’ve gone for the cherry popsicle first. He could just hear Ian sucking on it, long and slow, and moaning around it. He must have been putting on a show for Adrian but Mickey wished desperately that he could have seen too. He wanted to see Ian taking the length of the popsicle into his throat, saliva and cherry juice dripping down the corner of his mouth. The sucking stopped soon after and Mickey’s body was rigid, waiting for the cold contact of the frozen treat on his skin. Instead, he felt Ian’s warm breath along his thigh.

                “Relax,” Ian cooed against the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. Mickey hissed as he felt the tip of the popsicle being traced lightly up his inner thigh. The further up his thigh the popsicle went, the more Mickey’s back arched. It was icy against his skin and usually he hated using popsicles for Adrian, the Ian did it made it much more appealing. Ian dragged the popsicle up the taut muscles of his stomach, up to his nipple. Mickey whimpered quietly and planted his feet on the floor, squirming around as the cold, saliva-slicked popsicle circled around the sensitive nub. After teasing him a bit like that, Ian pushed Mickey’s legs open slowly, and Mickey took a deep breath of anticipation for what was coming. Ian sucked on the popsicle a few more times before trailing it slowly from the base of Mickey’s cock down his balls, finally to his hole. He gasped sharply as Ian twisted it around at the entrance, the cold feeling making Mickey shiver and shake.

                “Cold?” Ian asked, a teasing tone to his voice. Mickey nodded pathetically. He heard Ian chuckle above him and felt the popsicle disappear from between his cheeks, breathing a sigh of relief. He yelped though, when he felt Ian hold it right against the side of his dick. After a moment of almost unbearable cold, Ian wrapped his lips around both Mickey and the popsicle. The combination of the cold of the dessert and the warmth of Ian’s mouth and tongue made Mickey writhe helplessly. Ian knew exactly how to work his mouth, and it had Mickey moaning out for release. His worst nightmare came when he heard Adrian speak, breathless as he was no doubt jerking himself off.

                “No, don’t let him come.” Mickey was sure he could actually _feel_ Ian grin around his cock. Mickey tried to buck his hips into Ian’s mouth to rush to his orgasm but it was no use, Ian had pulled his mouth and the popsicle away from him.

                “Please, Please Ian I need to come, please? Please it’s been fucking days, I need to come!” Mickey twisted around in his cuffs and bucked his hips. Ian hummed above him in mock thought.

                “What do you think, Adrian? Does he deserve to come?”

                “Yes yes, fuck I need to,” Mickey cried out breathlessly, his moans coming out like sobs in his desperation.

                “No,” Adrian breathed. “But you do, red.”

                “Thanks,” Ian said with a smile in his voice. “But I don’t think I’ll last very long after playing with his pretty body,” Mickey felt something cold dripping onto his hole, and came to the realization that it was lube. Mickey’s lips were swollen from biting them but he was practically bleeding now, having been waiting for this for months. It wasn’t long before the tip of Ian’s cock was pressed against him, and he leaned down to lick along the shell of Mickey’s ear.

                “Relax,” he whispered, pushing into Mickey slowly. Mickey knew Ian was big, but he felt so full that it hurt a bit. But the pleasure by far outweighed the pain. Ian held Mickey’s legs up over his shoulders and started pounding into him, making the brunet dig his nails into the small of his back where his hands were cuffed. After a couple dozen thrusts, Ian moaned out Mickey’s name as if he were coming. Mickey was almost disappointed. It hadn’t been nearly as good as he’d hoped it to be, and Ian didn’t even really come. He still needed to come so desperately, but as soon as the video call ended Mickey figured he wouldn’t be coming anytime soon. That is, until Ian ripped off the blindfold and tossed it away.

                “You’ve been a really good boy for me, Mickey. I think you deserve a reward.” Ian grabbed Mickey’s waist and rolled him over onto his stomach, hoisting him up onto his knees. Mickey’s face rested against the floor and he moved so he could see Ian, whose lips were just as bite-swollen as his. He held tightly onto Mickey’s hips and slammed into him, making his bottom nearly howl out in pleasure as he hit his prostate. Mickey grinned wide, his wrists still cuffed behind his back as true pleasure shot through his body. He was glad his neighbors worked nights, or they would have definitely heard the screams that Ian’s constant thrusts against his bundle of nerves elicited. Ian grabbed the popsicle once again and shoved it into Mickey’s mouth, making the boy suck and moan around it as he was brutally and perfectly fucked. Mickey’s eyes were practically rolling back into his head, his thighs shaking violently, as Ian reached around to stroke his cock. He couldn’t catch his breath and somehow the lack of oxygen was just bringing him closer and closer until he couldn’t hold back anymore, groaning and whining loudly around the popsicle as his four-day load finally spilled out over the floor beneath him. If Ian wasn’t holding him so firmly by his hips, he would have collapsed right there in his own mess. After another handful of hard thrusts, Ian hit his climax and Mickey squirmed and moaned as he felt the redhead’s warm release inside of him, some spilling down his thigh. Ian gently guided Mickey to lie down so he wouldn’t collapse into the pool of come underneath him. The boys' pants filled the otherwise silent apartment, until Mickey sighed heavily and shut his eyes. Ian shook his arm to try to rouse him from his drowsy state but it was too late, the brunet had already fallen asleep, completely spent.


	5. Them's The Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey sets up a few house rules for Ian's visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and a little fluffy.

                Mickey didn’t wake up until well into the night. His body ached, but it was the best kind of pain he’d ever experienced. His knees and wrists were sore and there were sticky streaks of red along his mouth, chest and thighs from the popsicle. He opened his eyes to find Ian asleep with his head laid on the brunet’s middle. His hand rested on Mickey’s hipbone, his fingers twitching every once in a while. Mickey cautiously slid out from under Ian, the sleeping boy’s head hitting the wood floor with a thud and making Mickey wince. Thankfully, he stayed asleep. Mickey eased his way up on wobbly legs until he was able to make it to his computer. Turning so he could grab the keys for the handcuffs that Ian had left there, he worked for several minutes on unlocking them properly. His fingers were full of tremors like his legs.

                After he’d managed to put everything away, he decided he needed a shower. He shot the snoring redhead a final glance before heading to the bathroom and starting up the warm water. He didn’t bother shutting the door; this was his apartment after all. The hot water and the steam felt amazing on his aching joints. He angled the shower head toward the space where the bathtub met the wall so he could sit and the water could still run over him. His eyes were closed in absolute bliss as all evidence of his eventful evening was washed away. He was really relaxed, probably for the first time in his life. That is, until he heard the soft pattering of feet making their way to him across the bathroom. Ian’s eyes were swollen with sleep and there was a line of drool from the corner of his lip to his jaw.

                “What?” Mickey asked, realizing as he spoke that his own voice was hoarse.

                “I woke up and you weren’t there.”

                “So? What the fuck am I, your teddy bear?”

                “Well, you are pretty soft.” Ian grinned that big sideways grin that made Mickey’s knees weak(er than they already were) and stepped into the tub, turning the showerhead straight and standing under the stream.

                “Wow, that your best material there Gallagher?” Mickey chuckled, watching the water run over Ian’s body.

                “Oh trust me, I got books full of shit that’ll make you fall for me.”

                “Good luck with that.” Mickey stood to make his way out of the tub but Ian grabbed his forearm, worry written deeply in his frown.

                “Shit, I’m sorry Mickey.” Ian rubbed little circles into Mickey’s wrist and the pain made him look down and finally notice the dark bruises the handcuffs had left around his wrists. He hissed a little but elected to ignore it.

                “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

                “I do worry about it,” Ian said firmly. “I want to see my marks on you, but not if they’re painful. Does it hurt?”

                “I’m serious, it’s fine.” Mickey tried to get past Ian but the redhead held his swollen wrist to his lips to kiss it, and Mickey pulled away quick.

                “Alright, listen. If you’re going to stay here for the next two weeks, I got rules. Rule number one,” Mickey almost regretted making the rule even as he said it, his eyes falling to look at Ian’s soft lips. “No kissing. At all, anywhere, none.” He saw Ian’s eyebrows rise in a challenging manner, but he kept listening. “And second, no fucking cuddling. This place ain’t much better than the south side, so I’m packing heat. Touch me the wrong way, I will shoot you.”

                “Oh yeah?” Ian teased, pushing Mickey against the wall of the shower by his hips.

                “Don’t even play, Gallagher.” Mickey stared Ian down but his smile somehow showed through his glare. Mickey pushed Ian out of the way and stepped out of the tub, grabbing a towel and drying himself off.

                “Any other rules I should know about?” Ian asked in a facetious tone. Mickey thought for a bit, his tongue pressed into the corner of his lips as his eyes roamed around the bathroom.

                “Yeah, stay the fuck away from my pizza bagels.” Mickey gave a quick nod and headed out of the bathroom. He went to the dresser and pulled on a pair of boxers. It was almost midnight but his earlier activities with Ian had him to the point of starvation. He popped a bunch of pizza bagels in the microwave, deciding he’d fall asleep before they’d ever finish in the oven. By the time the microwave beeped and he pulled out his plate, the shower had been shut off and he heard Ian rummaging through the bathroom, presumably for a towel. Mickey chucked the towel he’d used to dry off blindly into the bathroom, hearing a chuckle somewhere inside. He grabbed his plate and headed over to his bed in the corner of the apartment. He plopped down on his side, resting the plate on the bedside table and starting to eat. He heard Ian behind him searching through his duffel bag for a while before he set it down by the couch. Mickey felt the bed dip behind him and Ian’s arm reached around to steal a pizza bagel and shove it into his mouth. The urge to reach for his gun had never been so strong. As soon as the plate was empty, Mickey shut off the lamp on the bedside table and he felt Ian’s arm snake around his waist. He shuddered as the younger boy pressed his lips along the nape of his neck, leaving impossibly light kisses from there to his shoulder, and back to his neck.

                “Fuckin’ asshole,” Mickey muttered. Despite having broken all three of Mickey’s previously nonnegotiable rules, Ian made it through the night without so much as a thought from Mickey to reach for the gun he kept in his drawer.


	6. The Missing Milkovich

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian video calls Mandy the morning after his arrival to New York and learns some startling news. And Mickey learns the joys of breaking his own rules.

                Okay, so perhaps breaking all three of Mickey’s cardinal rules his first night there wasn’t the best idea Ian’s ever had. However, he took the fact that he hadn’t been shot yet as a good sign. He woke up to an empty bed and the aroma of coffee nearby. There was a mug of coffee sitting on the bedside table and a note underneath it. It was still steaming, so Mickey must have left not too long ago. Ian reached for the note. His eyes were blurry with sleep, but he was able to make out the chicken scratch scribble there.

Went to Denny’s

Bring you something back

Don’t touch anything Copper Cock

                Ian chuckled and balled up the note, tossing it toward his duffel bag. He sipped at the coffee with a grin he wasn’t sure he’d ever get rid of. He lied sideways across the bed to grab his phone, opening Skype and calling Mandy. The morning sun from outside glinted off his screen so he turned up the brightness, hearing the bright yet sleep-ridden voice of Mandy Milkovich through his speakers as he did so.

                “You got laid, didn’t you?”

                “You’re not going to ask me about New York?”

                “How’s the ass in New York?”

                Ian barked out a laugh. He rolled over so he was lying back on Mickey’s pillow, showcasing the mug in his other hand.

                “The ‘ass’ made me coffee.”

                “So you fucked him already? You slut.”

                “You’re one to talk.”

                “You’re lucky that you’re in New York or I’d shove my heel through your skull,” Mandy grumbled. Ian snickered and finished off his coffee, smiling at his best friend.

                “Can you do me a favor while you’re there?”

                “Of course Mands. What is it?” Mandy’s face softened a bit, though it was something only Ian could pick up.

                “Can you check up on my brother? The fucker moved to New York a few months ago, and he hasn’t called me back in a month.” Ian nodded and opened the notes app on his phone.

                “Sure, wanna give me the address?” He jotted down the address as she said it, returning to the video call with a smile.

                “I’ll head over today probably. I’m sure he’s fine—“ Ian was cut short by the door being unlocked. “I gotta go, I’ll call you later.”

                “Is that him? I wanna see!” Ian ended the call abruptly and looked up at Mickey who walked in carrying a bag of take-out boxes from Denny’s. He slid the door closed and locked it, carrying the bags over to Ian and sitting down on the bed beside him. He pulled out the boxes and handed one to Ian, who opened it to find pancakes and eggs.

                “Hey Mick,” Ian asked with a mouth full of eggs, “you know where this address is?” Ian held up his phone where he’d typed the address of Mandy’s brother.

                “Yeah.” Mickey didn’t elaborate any further, so Ian cocked an eyebrow at him.

                “Where?”

                “Uh, you’re sitting in it.”

                Ian’s eyes practically doubled in size. “Wait, this is your address?”

                “Yeah, why?”

                “Oh.” Ian shook himself and read through the address a few times before shooting Mickey a smile and returning to his breakfast. “No just wondering, ‘cause it came up as the address on my maps.”

                “Yeah? What were you looking for?”

                “Zoo.” Ian answered a little too quickly. Mickey gave him a suspicious glance but didn’t press any further. Ian cursed himself mentally. He was Terry Milkovich's missing kid. How didn’t he know Mickey was a Milkovich? No wonder Mickey reminded him so much of Mandy. That would also explain why he was so against telling Ian his last name. It wouldn’t be very good if anyone in the south side found out a Milkovich was gay. Hell, he couldn’t even believe Mickey was a _Milkovich_. Well, a glance at Mickey’s knuckle tattoos made Ian snicker. It made a hell of a lot of sense now.

                “The fuck are you looking at?” Mickey brought Ian’s attention back to his face and the redhead blushed, shrugging as he finished off his food. Mickey eyed him for a bit. He shut his box of leftovers and crossed his arms over his chest.

                “Why did you come here?”

                “To see you,” Ian replied with no hesitation.

                “No, you came here to get laid and see New York.”

                “No Mickey. I came here to see you,” Ian insisted. He put the empty food boxes aside and crawled on his knees towards Mickey, cupping his cheek to kiss him. Mickey was quick to grab Ian’s wrist and flinch away though, staring at him.

                “I got rules, remember?”

                “Come the fuck on, Mickey. I’ve wanted to kiss you for _months._ What are you so afraid of?”

                “I’m not scared of anything, I just don’t kiss. But if you’re gonna fucking cry about it,” Mickey snaked his hand around the back of Ian’s neck and sat up on his knees, pulling him in for a kiss. Ian smirked against Mickey’s lips and just as he was about to pull away, Ian slid his hands behind the back of Mickey’s knees and pulled them out from under him, flipping the brunet onto his back. It wasn’t rough or sexual, the way any kind of intimacy Mickey’s had usually was. It was actually _intimate_ ; their legs tangled together until they weren’t sure whose limbs were whose. Ian was still shirtless from sleeping, and Mickey couldn’t stop his compulsion to reach out and touch every inch of the freckled skin. His breath hitched in his throat as Ian’s hipbones hit Mickey’s, his shirt riding up and their bare hips pressing against each other. Mickey let out a quiet moan into Ian’s mouth. Ian’s hand made its way under Mickey’s shirt, his fingertips dragging up his stomach and chest. He didn’t know how long they laid like that together, but when Ian finally pulled away to take a breath, Mickey felt as though his breath was taken in the process. He laid his head back into the mattress, his chest heaving and his hands still grasping at the skin of Ian’s back. Their lips were chapped and swollen and their tongues a bit sore. Ian hissed a little and Mickey realized his nails had been dug into his back.

                “Sorry,” Mickey muttered. He let up his nails but kept his hands running along Ian’s back. Ian smiled and ran his thumb along Mickey’s jaw line.

                “Don’t worry about it. I liked it.” Ian licked across from Mickey’s jaw line to his earlobe, nibbling on it and sliding a hand up into his dark hair. Mickey shuddered and dug his nails into Ian’s back once again, earning a satisfied, sharp inhale from the boy on top of him. Ian kissed back toward Mickey’s lips and nipped at his bottom lip once more before pulling away, sitting up straight.

                “What say you show me around New York today?” Ian asked, his lopsided grin spreading across his face. Mickey snickered, looking up at Ian as the sun showed through the window behind his head.

                “I gotta go to work, but you can come if you want.”

                Ian grinned and rolled off of Mickey, reaching into his duffel bag for clothes to wear. Mickey was now pretty sure that Ian Gallagher was going to be the death of him.


	7. Cat's Out Of The Bag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey and Ian get into a bit of a pointless spat caused by Mickey's paranoia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, I didn't edit this. Like at all. Oops.

                “The fuck are you doing?” Mickey looked up from his paperwork to find Ian screwing with all the shit around his desk. He didn’t mind bringing Ian to work with him, surely his boss couldn’t care less. But they’d only been there about an hour before Ian started going through all of Mickey’s stuff.

                “Your desk is a mess,” Ian nagged. _Jesus shit sucking Christ he’s acting like my fucking wife._ Mickey tried to focus on his work but Ian had just finished alphabetizing all of his files and color coding his notes with the multicolored flags he never knew what to do with.

                “Maybe I like it to be a mess, ever think of that?” Mickey snarled yet it had no bite. He looked back to the page he was editing and scowled.

                “Does this fucker even know English? I know I only got a GED but I’m pretty goddamn sure that ‘he has shaked her world again’ isn’t English. It’s just not.”

                “So,” Ian started, shutting Mickey’s filing cabinet and ignoring his complaints, “I thought Intercon-X was your only job?” Ian sat on the edge of Mickey’s desk, peering over his paperwork to watch as he corrected the sentence.

                “Are you kidding? Yeah it pays a lot, but still not enough to get by. So I started working here as a temp. I guess I did a good job, so they offered me a job as an editor.”

                “Don’t most companies require a bachelor’s degree or something like that?”

                “Does this look like a company that does shit by the book?” Mickey asked, holding his hands up. Ian looked around and decided yeah, it probably wasn’t the most legit business in the world. It was called Wayside Publishing. And as Ian’s eyes scanned over the page, he started to realize how questionable the content it was willing to publish was.

                “So you like working here?”

                “Shit Gallagher, what’s with the 20 questions all of a sudden?”

                “Just curious…” Mickey watched Ian twiddle his thumbs before he sighed and finished the page he was on.

                “If you’re asking whether it’s my dream job then no, it’s not. But it pays bills.”

                They didn’t talk much more after that. Mickey got through the first few chapters of the manuscript he was editing and Ian continued to organize Mickey’s desk until he might as well have had the neatest desk in history. As soon as the clock struck 5, Mickey was the first employee to shoot up from his desk and bolt for the door with his stuff, Ian shuffling after him. Once they were out of the office building, Ian reached for Mickey’s hand. The brunet immediately pulled his hand away.

                “What the fuck did I tell you about my rules?”

                “What, before or after we made out and you couldn’t keep your hands off me?” Ian smirked and reached for his hand again, taking it without Mickey fighting this time.

                “Fuckin’ wise guy,” Mickey scrunched up his nose, taking a long drag of the cigarette he lit the moment they set foot outside.     

                “So what do you want to do tonight?” Ian asks. Mickey knits his eyebrows as his lips close around the cigarette, making Ian wet his lips with the desire to kiss him again.

                “I don’t know about you, but I’m fucking going to sleep. If I got two weeks off from Intercon-X, then I’m gonna use it to rest. I ain’t doing shit tonight.”

                “You sure about that Mick?” Ian ran his fingertips up the back of Mickey’s shirt, feeling the older boy shiver under his touch.

                “You got something else in mind?” Mickey smirked, resisting the urge to swat Ian’s hand away.

                “As a matter of fact I do. But this time with less of an audience.” Ian’s nails dragged down Mickey’s back and he shuddered as his smirk grew. They stopped at a convenience store to pick up some food, which for Mickey was generally candy, before they made their way back to Mickey’s apartment. Mickey grabbed his Snickers from the plastic bag and plopped himself down at his computer, ready to try and get a hold of the rest of his clients to cancel their appointments for the next two weeks. Ian, however, really did have something else in mind. Before Mickey could take the first bite of his Snickers, Ian had straddled his lap and went straight for Mickey’s lips. Mickey dropped his candy to his desk and set his hand on Ian’s shoulder, pushing him away half heartedly. Ian moved, but only away from Mickey’s lips. He kissed down his neck, pushing his jacket off and reaching for the buttons of his jeans.

                “Come on man, I gotta make a few calls.”

                “So?” Ian breathed, moving to his knees on the floor between Mickey’s legs. “You won’t even know I’m here,” he said with a wink, pulling Mickey’s jeans down around his ankles. Mickey scoffed and made a futile attempt to ignore him, but gasped as he felt Ian’s lips wrap around his cock. His hand immediately gripped onto the other boy’s shoulder, his ass arching up off the seat. Ian was having none of that however, and forced Mickey’s hips back down.

                Mickey only managed to get through two clients before he started to come undone. The camera was set high enough so no one could see below his chest but by the third client, he was panting and stumbling over his words. Ian took him deep in his throat, moaning around him quietly so as not to let the client know what was going on. His throat tightened perfectly around Mickey’s length and he could barely get his words out anymore. Mickey moaned out by accident just as the call was ending, both fists finding their way to the short strands of orange hair. He bucked his hips, forcing his cock further down Ian’s throat. He gagged around him but managed to adjust. While Mickey tried to call another client Ian pulled off, much to the brunet’s dismay. He watched the screen and waited for the client to pick up. He barely noticed Ian sucking on his fingers before they were pressing against his hole, Ian’s mouth returning around his cock. He couldn’t care less that the client hadn’t picked up, he was more focused on the fact that Ian’s fingers were arching perfectly to hit that same spot that had him nearly screaming the night before. He sunk low in his chair, giving Ian a better angle, and shut his eyes tight. Ian worked two of his fingers inside Ian before adding a third, making the squirming boy arch up off the chair again.

                Everything was perfect; Ian’s throat vibrating with his moans around Mickey’s cock, his fingers working him in just the way that makes him crazy. The only real problem now, one that Mickey didn’t even bother to consider at the time, was that the guy who ran Intercon-X was far too lazy to make his own sound for when someone is receiving a video call and instead used the same calling tone as Skype. Thinking it was the client he tried to contact earlier calling him back, he didn’t bother to open his eyes again and just hit the enter key to accept the call. At this point of the blowjob, he didn’t care if the client knew he was getting one and allowed himself to moan out as his climax hit in full force, coming hot and hard down the redhead’s throat. He convulsed in pleasure until he heard a terrifyingly girlish scream from his speakers.

                “Mickey what the _fuck!?”_ Mickey’s eyes shot open and both boys jumped, Mickey falling back in his chair with his pants still around his ankles and Ian bumping his head harshly against the desk, letting out a choked gasp of pain and crawling out from under the desk, hoping to get away without being recognized. He would have gotten away scot-free, had it not been for the fact that bumping his head on the desk knocked the webcam off its mount, giving a pretty clear shot of him trying to crawl away.

                “Ian? _Ian_?!” Mandy was literally on the edge of her seat, confusion and disgust written on her face. Mickey pulled his pants up and tried to get away as well, but his sister was quick to stop him.

                “I swear to fucking god you assface, you better start explaining.”

                Ian and Mickey shared a glance, clearly calculating whether or not they should just run but something about Mandy was she had some kind of sisterly force field over the both of them, forcing them to clam up and act like adults. So Mickey affixed his camera back to its mount on the screen and stood his chair back up, rushing through his explanation as quickly as possible. It wasn’t exactly that he was ashamed of his job, but it still wasn’t the most dignifying thing in the world. Especially for his little sister to know about. By the end of his explanation, Mandy’s eyes were narrowed to slits. She didn’t even address Mickey at first. She turned to Ian who was standing awkwardly next to her brother with her arms crossed over her chest.

                “Why didn’t you tell me?”

                “I’m sorry, I really didn’t know. He wasn’t using his real name, how was I supposed to know?”

                “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you knew my sister?”

                “I didn’t even know until this morning!” Ian huffed. “Alright look, what’s done is done. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Mandy, I didn’t know. And Mickey I’m—“ Ian blinked dumbly as Mickey ended the call with Mandy, crossing his arms and turning the chair so he could get up and start walking away.

                “Maybe you should just go home,” he grumbled.

                “What? What are you talking about?” Ian was quick to follow Mickey, grabbing his shoulder and turning him back to face him.

                “This was a stupid fucking idea. Should have never let you come here.”

                “Why are you being such a dick about this? So I know your name now, big deal. Why does it matter?”

                “I know you Gallaghers, Frank’s shitty little ilk crawling around like cockroaches. Big fucking mouths, just like him.” Mickey was muttering and averting Ian’s eyes, feeling more paranoid and cornered by the moment.

                “So what, you think I’m gonna out you or something? Frank’s not even my real dad, you fucking tool. That pretty much cuts out nature _and_ nurture considering he was hardly there if there weren’t any drugs or money in it for him.”

                “How is that my problem?” Mickey stared up into Ian’s eyes, defiant as ever. Ian sniffed and backed off.             

                “I guess it’s not. Nothing is your problem Mick, _that’s_ the problem.” Ian turned on his heels and grabbed his jacket before heading for the door. He slammed the door shut behind him and Mickey scoffed. What was Ian's problem? Was he expecting Mickey to follow him or something? Why the fuck should he care if Ian left? He wasn’t Mickey’s problem, and he definitely wasn’t going to go after him. Definitely not. It wasn’t until about ten minutes later that Mickey mumbled intense curses and made his way out to the New York streets. Fucking Ian Gallagher. Fuck Ian Gallagher. Fuck.


	8. The Elephant In The Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey chases after Ian like some bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure why it took me so long to churn this chapter out??? It's kind of quick and I don't know I was so tired and worn out today so bleh, anyway I hope this chapter wasn't as bad as I thought it was.

                The more Mickey walked around the city, the more panicked he got. He’s lived in New York for almost a year, and he still didn’t know his way around. So how the hell was Ian getting around? He’s never been to New York, and now he was walking the streets alone and it was getting dark. What if he wasn’t alone? What if someone picked him up? Mickey’s head was spinning with the possibilities and he felt like the city air was choking him. He was starting to think that he shouldn’t have overreacted back at the apartment. He was ready to give up and go to the police for help when his memory sparked an idea in the back of his mind.

                The zoo. Ian kept talking about wanting to go to the zoo. Mickey jumped up from the bench he’d been having a crisis on and looked around. He knew how to get to the zoo, but it was a thirty minute walk from where he was. He managed to cut it down to twenty minutes by running. Sometimes, growing up as a delinquent came in handy. His endurance was something to be admired. By the time he got to Central Park Zoo, the sun had set. The place was pretty much empty, besides the animals somewhere inside. He’d rather be safe than sorry in case there was security inside, so he didn’t call out Ian’s name. Instead, he walked around the perimeter until a dim light from the Delacorte clock caught his eye.

                God only knows how Ian managed to climb up there, but he was comfortably seated beside one of the animal statues atop the arches, smoking a cigarette and scrolling through his phone. Mickey saw a trash can placed close to the wall, so he figured that must’ve been how Ian got up there. Carefully, Mickey climbed on top of the trash can and reached on the tips of his toes for the ledge. Being somewhat vertically challenged, he had to jump to grab onto the ledge. He held back grunts of effort as he pulled himself up, swinging his leg up so he could crawl up with ease. Again, being a delinquent had its perks. Mickey crawled over and sat beside Ian. He reached to take the cigarette from between his lips and took a long drag for himself. He allowed the smoke to swirl inside his lungs for a moment before breathing it out, rolling the cigarette awkwardly between his fingers.

                “You know the zoo closed a couple hours ago, right?” Mickey tried. Ian laughed dryly and continued to scroll through his phone.

                “Yeah, I gathered that.”

                “So why are you here?”

                “I just needed to think.”

                “You had to climb up on the Delacorte Clock to think?” Mickey moved to hand Ian his cigarette back but he waved him away. Mickey peered over to look at Ian’s phone and saw that he was texting mandy.

**Mandy [8:39 pm]:** please tell me you bottom. somehow its less disturbing to me if my brother isnt the one taking it up the ass

**Ian [8:42 pm]:** sorry

**Mandy [8:47 pm]:** i hate you

Mickey snorted but when he caught the look on Ian’s face, he forced himself to be serious.

                “Look man, I know I overreacted.” Mickey watched Ian, hoping for his dark expression to change but it didn’t. He just stared at his phone and kept typing to Mandy. Fuck, Mickey wasn’t good at this. This apologizing shit. He grabbed Ian’s phone and locked it, placing it down beside him. Ian finally looked at him, his lips pursed and his eyebrows furrowed.

                “I’m sorry, okay? I don’t do this shit normally, and I’m all fucked up.”

                Ian seemed to consider this for a while. He shrugged pathetically. “Doesn’t mean you can be an asshole about it.”

                “Jesus Christ, I know.” Mickey took one last puff of the cigarette before putting it out on the elephant statue next to Ian and flicking it away into the dark. “Look, just come back to the apartment okay? It’s fucking cold out. I’ll bring you back here tomorrow, and we can actually see the animals.” Ian looked off into the dark in silence, appearing to not have heard what Mickey said.

                “What do you see this as?” Ian asked, staring him down. Mickey was pretty sure his gulp was audible but he didn’t respond, so Ian continued. “A hook up? Am I just someone you can fuck and throw away?” Ian’s hands were shaking. Mickey wanted to reach out and hold them but he felt Ian would just pull away.

                “If you were just a fuck, I wouldn’t have brought you to my job. I wouldn’t have come out here looking for you. If you were just a fuck I wouldn’t have been able to figure out where you were. So just…  Don’t try to label it right now, okay?” Mickey wrung his hands together, avoiding Ian’s soul-prying eyes. “Just come back.” The silent tension in the air was as thick as the smoke from the cigarette Mickey threw away, and he found himself desperately craving another one.

                “Fine,” Ian muttered, easing his way to the ledge so he could drop down, his fingertips bracing his landing on the ground. He looked up at Mickey and shoved his fists in his jacket pockets. “Only ‘cause it’s cold as fuck and all my shit’s at your place.” He started walking ahead, keeping his head low, while Mickey jumped down off the Delacorte clock. A cry of pain echoed in the night air behind him, and Ian turned to find Mickey bent down on one knee and clutching his ankle. He scoffed, thinking he was probably exaggerating for Ian’s empathy, and turned back around to keep walking. His hope was that Mickey would drop his little sprained ankle act and just run to catch up with him. He walked for about five minutes before glancing over his shoulder and catching barely a glimpse of Mickey fast-walking as slow as a fast walk could be about ten yards away. His face was one of absolute concealed pain, his skin reddened and his jaw set. Fucking Christ. Ian groaned and started back toward Mickey, stopping before him with a horrified expression. Mickey had rolled up his jeans and Ian could see that the ankle was already purpling and swelling.

                “Holy shit, you actually hurt yourself?” Ian watched as Mickey’s eyes widened and his tongue pressed into his cheek angrily. Ian thought with amusement that he looked like a pissed off chipmunk.

                “ _No fucking shit, Sherlock._ ” Mickey growled through his teeth.

                “Well fuck, don’t walk on it you idiot!” Ian grabbed Mickey’s arm and pulled it around his neck, sliding his arm around the other boy’s waist. “Come on, we’ll get a cab.”

                “Yeah, you fuckin’ ignore a guy’s pain for five minutes and _I’m_ the idiot.” Mickey grumbled, making sure not to use his right foot too much as he walked and hissing in pain whenever he put pressure on it.”

                “You’re kind of a pussy for a Milkovich,” Ian teased.

                “You know, I still got that gun in my apartment.” Ian couldn’t help but laugh, turning his head to kiss Mickey’s temple.

                “Yeah, I know.” Ian was still pissed. There was no getting around that. But Ian had a feeling that the Milkovich boy wasn’t one for letting people know he was hurting. If he was really nothing to Mickey, he would probably have kept walking normally rather than let him see he was in pain. And, Ian decided, he wouldn’t have given half a shit to go looking for him, much less ask him to come back. Maybe Mickey didn’t feel exactly about Ian as he felt about Mickey, but at the very least there was something there. For now, that was good enough for Ian.


	9. Big Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian fusses over Mickey's ankle and gives the injured boy a present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo it's 9:50 AM and I still haven't been to sleep, and I'm about to go to Denny's! Anyway yeah I'm sorry if there are any mistakes, I'm somewhat delirious from sleep deprivation.

                By the time the boys managed to hail a cab and make it back to Mickey’s apartment, the injured brunet could hardly walk. Ian all but carried him up the steps to his door despite the struggle Mickey put up. He insisted he could make it up the stairs. Ian rolled his eyes and helped Mickey to his bed, gingerly pulling his pants off so he could see just how bad the sprain was. The answer to that? Pretty fucking bad. His ankle was purple and swollen, yellow around the edges of the bruised skin. Ian frowned and moved Mickey to lay with his head at the foot of the bed. He pulled off Mickey’s shoes as carefully as possible, but he still bit into his tattooed knuckles to keep from crying out when Ian took the shoe off the injured foot. Ian grabbed a few cushions from Mickey’s horrifying ugly black and purple houndstooth patterned couch. Where and _why_ the fuck did he get that thing? Ian shook his thoughts and returned to Mickey on the bed. Now was not the time to worry about Mickey’s seriously debatable interior design skills. He lifted Mickey’s leg by his calf and rested his foot on the cushions.

                “You good?” Ian asked. “Hold on, let me get you some ice.” Mickey propped himself up on his elbows so he could look at the redhead who seemed to be making too much of a fuss over him. Even if it did hurt like a motherfucker, it was just a sprained ankle. Nothing he’d never experienced before. Still, there was something under the surface that made Mickey feel good about Ian being like this. It meant he wasn’t too pissed at him. Ian came back a moment later with an ice pack wrapped in a hand towel, setting it down gently on Mickey’s ankle. He let out a gasp as the cold came in contact with his skin, both soothing and seething at the same time. His head fell back against the foot of the bed and shut his eyes. He was never one to bitch when he was in pain; shit could always be worse, he figured. For example, Ian could have been pissed enough to leave Mickey’s pathetic ass limping all the way home on a bad ankle. Hands were now grabbing at the hem of Mickey’s shirt so he arched his back up, allowing Ian to pull it off and toss it in the general direction of the laundry basket nearby. Mickey was left in his boxers, breathing out a sigh of relief as the ice began to do the trick. At the very least, the pain was somewhat numbed. His eyes opened to find Ian stripping down to his boxer briefs. Mickey couldn’t help but appreciate the way they hugged his ass and thighs perfectly.

                “It doesn’t hurt too badly does it?” Ian leaned down to kiss along the border of skin around the elastic of Mickey’s boxers. Much like their make out session this morning, it wasn’t necessarily sexual. It was more like Ian was just caring for him, like the way he kissed and massaged Mickey’s wrists after he saw the bruises from the handcuffs. He kissed up the taut muscles of Mickey’s stomach and though normally he would have tensed at this gesture, he found himself completely relaxed.

                “Don’t worry about it, I'm fine.” Mickey muttered. Obviously, Ian wasn’t buying it.

                “Stop with the ‘don’t worry’ shit. Just fucking accept the fact that I worry.” Ian sighed, his breath warm against Mickey’s stomach, before he got up again. Mickey watched as the redhead disappeared into the bathroom and he heard pill bottles being moved around inside before he came back with painkillers, handing Mickey two and a glass of water. After he took the pills and downed the water in one big gulp, Mickey rested back on the bed. Ian’s hand roamed over Mickey’s stomach and chest. The feeling of the gentle yet somewhat calloused hands touching him soothed him far more than the ice or pills ever could. Mickey was practically lulling himself to sleep with wandering thoughts about what made Ian’s hands calloused. Perhaps his ROTC training, which Mickey had yet to ask about. He was curious how a kid like Ian could want to be in the army. He seemed like the type who would rather not kill someone, and often that’s the kind of shit someone’s got to do in the military. God, Ian’s hands felt so good moving over his ribs, his fingertips brushing along the dips between his ribs. Mickey was way too relaxed to pretend he wasn’t loving every moment of this, and thought he might actually fall asleep to the redhead’s gentle touches when he heard said redhead sigh, almost to himself.

                “I was gonna give you a present, but we should probably wait…” That caught Mickey’s attention. He looked up at Ian through drowsy, half-lidded eyes. Ian didn’t seem to be trying to be bait him into asking about the present, he looked like he was sincerely upset that he couldn’t give Mickey whatever the fuck he had for him. That caught Mickey’s attention even more.

                “Present?” Mickey asked, flicking his tongue out to wet his lips before sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. “What present?”

                “Nothing, I’ll give it to you when you’re feeling better.” Ian offered the brunet a smile but he was already pushing up on his elbows, now fully awake once more.

                “Christ Gallagher, I’m not gonna shatter ‘cause of a bad ankle. What the fuck is it?” Mickey watched as Ian’s lips purse in thought, as if he were having a debate with himself. After seeming to come to a decision, Ian pushed himself off the bed and reached into his duffel bag on the floor.

                “Have you ever heard of the Big-Boy?” Ian asked tentatively, pulling a box out of the bag. Mickey’s eyebrows knitted in the middle of his forehead and he shook his head. He craned his head just so, allowing him to see into the box as Ian opened it. What he saw, wasn’t in the least what he expected.

                Let’s be frank here. Mickey had a lot of toys. Plugs, Ben Wa balls (his personal favorite) and all sorts of vibrators and fleshlights. This, however, he’d never seen before. It was black and almost shaped like a finger making a “come here” motion with three connected ovals and spheres on one side. Mickey stared at it dumbly for a moment, reading the embossed letters that read Big-Boy on the side.

                “Okay… What the fuck is it?”

                “It’s supposed to be the best prostate massager around. Most people start with the Rude-Boy which is kind of skinny, but I figured you could take this… Do you want to try it?” Ian wet his lips, his eyes raking over Mickey’s body. Then he winced guiltily. “Nevermind, sorry. We should wait until your ankle—“

                “I wanna try it,” Mickey managed to say quietly. He was more than intrigued by this toy. He’d heard of prostate massagers from Roger Spikey, who was always sending him links to this website he bought them from called Rocks-Off. He’d never used one though. They were pretty expensive from what he could tell.

                “You sure?” Ian asked, running his hand soothingly along Mickey’s thigh.

                “Stop asking questions and just get it in me, Firecrotch.” Mickey said with a big eye roll, kicking off his own boxers. Ian grinned and moved Mickey carefully so that his foot was still resting on the cushions, but also so he was sitting in Ian’s lap. Ian pulled out some kind of fancy bottle of lube from the box he had the toy in. Mickey leaned closer with curiosity and read the label; it was warming lubricant. Ian really thought all this through. He got a generous amount on his fingers and the toy, pushing two fingers inside him with ease. He was still a little loose from their round on the floor the night before. Still, Mickey had to bite back moans of pleasure. Despite years of touching himself, it was very different when the touch came from someone else. And it had been a long time since anyone touched him like Ian did. In fact, it had pretty much been never since anyone touched him like that.

                “Ready?” Ian cooed, resting his lips against Mickey’s knee and pulling his fingers out.

                “Just do it,” Mickey growled, bucking his hips a little. Ian kissed his kneecap lightly as he pressed the toy against Mickey’s hole, easing it in slowly. The first two, oval-shaped balls went in fairly easy. The third one, the sphere, had Mickey letting out half-moan half-sobs. The tip of the toy came to a very subtle point, being oval-shaped, but the point didn’t feel so subtle as it pressed right up against Mickey’s prostate when the toy was fully inside him. He felt so warm and full, he could have just lied there leaking precome forever. Ian let out a breath and leaned forward to kiss the shuddering brunet. He pressed their foreheads together and smiled, his eyes closed.

                “Fucking Christ, you think that feels good?” Ian nipped Mickey’s quivering lip and smirked. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.” Ian reached down and pressed a button on the bottom of the toy, making it come to life with vigorous vibrations. Mickey’s eyes went wide before he shut them tight, his body arching up off Ian’s lap. Normally, he could stop his moans if he really tried. But at that moment, he was completely incapable of stopping the intensely moaned ‘oh’s that tore from his throat. Ian held Mickey’s hips down his lap. The bottom of the toy was designed to massage the perineum as well, and the combined pleasure with his prostate was quite literally driving Mickey _crazy._ Ian reached into his boxer briefs and pulled out his own cock, fully hard, and grabbed both his and Mickey’s erections in one hand. Mickey opened his eyes and looked down as he felt Ian’s fist making its way into his hair. Both boys were looking down at their dicks as Ian stroked them together, and the image alone was almost enough to make them both come. Mickey was leaking and practically spurting precome over both of their cocks, slicking them up perfectly so he Ian could stroke them tighter and faster. Mickey made an attempt to stop his crazy moaning by biting his lip, but only bit into it until he was almost bleeding and the sounds came anyway. Ian leaned in to capture his lips in a kiss, running his tongue along where Mickey had bitten it and soothing the wound. Mickey’s tremulous hand came up to cup the back of Ian’s neck and pull him into the kiss with more force.

                The build-up of Mickey’s orgasm was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. While usually it felt like he was sky-rocketing towards climax when he felt he was getting close and was just stuck on the edge until he eventually came, this was incredibly different. It was slow, and startlingly wonderful. His orgasm hit in full force, his body convulsing and sobbing Ian’s name out as the boys came at once, their cocks covered in each other’s come as they came down from their sex-induced high. Ian turned off the toy and pulled it slowly out of Mickey, leaving the exhausted boy to fall back against the foot of the bed once again. His prostate was throbbing and felt almost as though it were still vibrating, and Mickey’s body was shivering uncontrollably with the aftershocks of his climax. He started to fall asleep as Ian cleaned them off with tissues and resumed running his gently calloused hand over Mickey’s body. He didn’t even feel the pain in his ankle anymore, he was so pleasured and tired.


	10. The Moon Boot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lip is less than happy when he discovers the real reason Ian went to New York.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all enjoying this Gallavich fluff while it lasts.

                This was the third time that Mickey woke up with Gallagher all over him. Except this time, Gallagher was already awake and fully clothed. He specifically remembered the boy going to bed in boxer briefs. Then again, he also remembered completely knocking out after having one of the most intense orgasms of his entire life. Ian’s arms were wrapped around Mickey from behind, holding him close. Possessively. This wasn’t just a hug-the-stuffed-animal-in-your-bed knee jerk reaction to clutch Mickey in his sleep, because the redhead was fully awake. He wasn’t even just holding Mickey; he was touching him. Much like he was last night. Soft, fleeting touches to his bicep. Caresses down his ribcage. Light drags of his nails across the formerly sleeping boy’s chest. At some point, Mickey forgot he was supposed to be discouraging this type of intimacy. The more he woke up, the more aware he became of the change in his surroundings. His apartment keys were on the bedside table which wasn’t a place he normally kept them. And now his injured ankle had one of those huge black boots people always wore when they hurt their foot or something. Moon boots, he always called them. Well, now he had a fucking moon boot on his foot.

                At the very least, his ankle didn’t hurt very much anymore.

                Sometime about ten minutes later, Mickey rolled over slowly to face Ian and let him know he was awake. Ian smiled warmly and pressed a kiss to Mickey’s forehead which, to the brunet’s own surprise, he didn’t flinch away from.

                “Good morning. You sleep okay?” Mickey could easily have said that falling asleep to the boy caressing his body as if he were reading his pale skin like Braille led to one of the most incredibly well-rested nights of his life, and that he wouldn’t have been surprised if Ian had learned everything about him just from touching him. Instead of saying any of that gay shit though, he opted for a more pressing issue.

                “Why the fuck am I wearing this moon boot?”

                Ian barked out a laugh and brought a hand up to rest on Mickey’s neck. “I figured you get all bitchy about it. I thought you’d get bitchy about the crutches too,” Ian pointed to the pair of crutches resting against the wall that Mickey hadn’t noticed before, “so I went back in the pharmacy and got the ‘moon boot’. But now maybe I should have just gotten a stroller to push you around in.” Ian snickered until he noticed the way Mickey was staring at him with a numb expression.

                “What’s wrong?”

                “You bought both of them for me? Why?” Mickey stared at him incredulously.

                “Because you’re in pain and I want to make it as painless as possible.” Ian had said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world and Mickey should just shut the fuck up and deal with it. Mickey being Mickey, of course, wasn’t taking that as an answer.

                “You don’t have to spend your money on me man. I don’t need any of this shit.” Mickey knew he should probably be backing this up by getting off the bed, out of Ian’s arms, and taking the moon boot and chucking it against the nearest wall. But fuck, Ian was warm. And his apartment didn’t have the best heating system and it was 30 degrees outside. And he was naked. So yeah, he figured he had some fairly good reasons to stay in Ian’s arms. But it wasn’t because he wanted to. Definitely not. And it definitely wasn’t because of the way Ian was smiling at him.

                “Come on, don’t be stupid. I bought food too, like _real_ food not just your goddamn pizza bagels. Stay here and I’ll make you some breakfast while I call my family.”

                Mickey had to resist the urge to whine when the warmth disappeared, Ian getting up and heading over to the makeshift kitchen. Mickey grabbed the blankets and pulled them up over his body, hoping to make up for the lack of strong arms around him. Of course, it wasn’t the same.

~~~~~

                When Fiona came bounding over with all the Gallagher siblings in tow saying she had Ian on FaceTime, Lip was less than excited.

                Now, he was a man of secrecy when it came to his business. He even made it a point not too tell anyone, not even his best friend Karen, that Mickey Milkovich of all people worked as an escort for the website and business he’d created, Intercon-X. A _gay_ escort to be precise. He didn’t monitor the webcams very much; he figured he’d leave everyone to their own business and if any problems arose, someone would just contact him about it. In the spirit of anonymity, he didn’t look at the names on the credits cards people used, no matter how juicy the info could be. But there was the occasional night when Karen was busy with someone else and Lip was bored, finding that he’d pretty much watched every clip of porn the internet had to offer. And just the other night was one such night. He was clicking through the calls, noting how fucked up some of the people who used his website were. At some point he accidentally stumbled onto Mickey’s webcam, and he was in the middle of a session with both a client and someone who was running a popsicle over the Milkovich’s naked body. He almost gagged and moved to change to another webcam when he saw something that really made him sick.

                The redhead who was at that moment sucking Mickey’s dick and the popsicle was his brother. His fucking brother. What the everloving actual fuck? Lip knew Ian was gay, but he’d fucking lied to him. He told the Gallaghers he was going to New York to look at colleges he might be interested in since he was graduating early, not to go off and fuck some ex-south side twink. He said he had a friend to stay with. He didn’t mention that friend was said ex-south side twink. Fuck.

                And now Ian was here on FaceTime, cooking fucking eggs and bacon with a big grin on his face. The grin nobody wore unless they’d been getting laid. He eyed Ian suspiciously and let his siblings do the talking. He was pissed, but he wasn’t about to confront him about this shit right now. Not with his family still around. He gritted his teeth as Ian sat beside Mickey on the bed.

                “Here Mick,” Ian said cheerfully, adjusting the angle of his camera so the family could see Mickey who was less than amused at being on camera. He still grabbed the breakfast plate appreciatively.

                “Fuck off, Firecrotch.” Mickey put his hand up against the camera and Lip had to hold back from gagging at the apparent pet name. Fucking gross. Ian returned to the kitchen, laughing at Mickey.

                “Look I gotta go, the friend I’m staying with screwed up his ankle so I gotta help him out before he starts crying again.” A distant ‘fuck you’ came back from the bed area and Lip scoffed as he started walking away from the family. He wasn’t in the fucking mood to deal with this. He was Ian’s brother, and best friend. How couldn’t he trust him with the truth?


	11. Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian's last day in New York doesn't go as well as he thought it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very sick so I didn't take the time to edit this chapter. This will soon be coming to an end I think, just a couple more chapters.

                On the final morning of the visit, Ian was making himself some coffee. He turned around to find Mickey limping in the moon boot towards the kitchen, the crutches abandoned in the corner just like Ian thought they’d be. He was only about halfway through his breakfast and Mickey hoisted himself up onto the kitchen counter, pouring himself a cup of the coffee Ian had made. Ian found himself laughing at the way Mickey’s feet swung lightly off the edge. His height was nothing if not adorable to Ian.

                “The fuck you laughing at?” Mickey asked warily, mouth full of Ian’s bacon. Ian smiled and moved to stand between Mickey’s legs, running his hands along his thighs and leaning in to kiss his neck.

                “Nothin’ Mick.” His lips travelled along the boy’s throat, feeling the way his muscles contracted as he swallowed his food. Ian would be lying if he said the way Mickey now reacted to his kisses didn’t please him beyond anything else. He didn’t fight it the way he had in the shower the first night. He accepted it, even encouraged it at times the way he was doing now, tilting his head back to allow more space for Ian’s lips to roam. The best part was when Mickey would completely forget to pretend to hate intimacy and his hands would graze over the redhead’s chest and cup the back of his neck. Ian was so intoxicated the scent of Mickey’s skin, he hadn’t heard his name being called.

                “Gallagher, come on. I gotta go to work.”

                Gallagher. Ian had heard Mickey refer to him simply as ‘Gallagher’ or ‘Firecrotch’ or ‘Copper Cock’ more than a few times during his visit. In fact, he never called him anything else. He couldn’t remember a single time that Mickey had used his first name. Even in bed he called him Gallagher.

                “You got time before you have to go, right? Come on Milkovich,” Ian nipped at Mickey’s earlobe. That caught his attention.

                “Milkovich?” Mickey asked, his eyebrows pointing heavenward.

                “What? I can’t call you Milkovich?”

                “No, you can’t.”

                “You call me Gallagher. Sometimes not even that.” Ian feigned nonchalance with a shrug, slipping a hand under Mickey’s shirt.

                “So?”

                “So, why don’t you ever call me my name?”

                “Jesus Christ,” Mickey said, scoffing and hopping off the kitchen counter to head towards the bathroom.

                “That’s not my name either.” Ian teased. He came up behind Mickey, wrapping his arms around the shorter man’s waist. Mickey tried to shove him off but as always, he eventually relented and leaned back into Ian’s chest.

                “So what? You want me to start using your name?”

                “You don’t have to,” Ian shrugged. “I’m just curious as to why you don’t.”

                “Because Gallagher just sounds better,” Mickey lied. Ian sighed and traced his fingertips up the other boy’s chest.

                “You don’t like my name?” Ian asked, his voice dropping to that dark, mesmeric tone he used when he was dominating Mickey. Mickey couldn’t help the shudder than ran down his spine. Scratch that, the shudder wracked his whole body.

                “I didn’t say that,” he muttered pathetically, practically melting in the palm of Ian’s hand. He hated that Ian so much power over him. He hated that ever since he met him, Ian’s completely turned his life upside down. And most of all, he hated that he couldn’t say Ian’s name. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, but he really couldn’t. Every time the name started in the bottom of his throat, he had to stop himself for fear of being unable to say that three-letter name without saying everything. Everything he wasn’t allowed to be feeling. That he was fucking falling for this kid. He elected to blame Roger Spikey for daring him to do this shit. And now he was in way too deep.

                “Then why won’t you say my name? You know how much I’d love to hear my good boy scream my name.” Ian kisses the nape of Mickey’s neck, turning the brunet around in his arms. Mickey looked up at him. He wet his lips at the title Ian had recently given him, his ‘good boy’.

                “You wanna hear that, then you better make it worth my while.”

                Ian grinned and grabbed Mickey’s shoulder, easing him down to his knees. “Then be a good boy for me like I know you are, and get that cock wet so I can fuck you.” Mickey licks his lips with anticipation as he hurries to unbuckle Ian’s jeans. Neither could care to count how many times they had sex in the last two weeks, but it was well into the double digits. In fact, Mickey’s landlord stopped by several mornings saying he was getting noise complaints from other tenants. Most of their days consisted of waking up, fucking, eating, fucking, going to Mickey’s office, fucking in a supply closet, and coming home to eat and fuck until they went to sleep and then the cycle would start all over again. It was definitely a ritual they could get used to. But now that ritual was coming to an end.

                Once Ian decided his cock was slick enough, he pulled Mickey up and whirled him around, bending him over the bathroom counter so they were facing the mirror and ripped his boxers down. Mickey let out a heavy moan as Ian thrusted into him with merciless force. He didn’t give Mickey time to adjust like he normally did. He slid his hands up the boy’s back, resting them on his shoulders and thrusting into him while he pulled him harder onto his dick. He bent forward to nip at Mickey’s ear and moan out sweet praises. Mickey was intoxicated by watching Ian fuck him in the mirror, not to mention Ian’s voice in his ear.

                “Fuck Mickey, you feel so good. You’re fucking perfect, my beautiful boy.” Mickey braced his hands against the mirror which they were now fogging up with their hot pants. He wasn’t even being touched but every time Ian slammed against his prostate he found himself closer and closer to orgasm. He looked at Ian’s face in the mirror, his eyes clouded over with lust and pleasure. Ian reached around to stroke Mickey’s cock and that was all it took before his eyes were rolling back and his thighs were quivering as he shot his load over the sink and mirror.

                “Ian, fuck!” Mickey moaned hoarsely, pushing back into Ian’s hips with every thrust.

                Mickey was the one who feared that saying Ian’s name would force his feelings to come out in a deluge, but this wasn’t the case.

                “Fuck Mickey,” Ian growled into his ear, coming hard inside of him, “I love you, I fucking love you.”

                Mickey stopped. Ian rode out his orgasm until he dropped his forehead against the brunet’s shoulder tiredly, his lips roaming over Mickey’s back.

                Once they got dressed, Mickey walked awkwardly back to his bed, pulling on whatever clothes he first saw. What the fuck was that? Why had Ian said he loved him? As soon as he turned around, he saw that Ian was looking just as awkward. Good. He had no right saying that shit. Ian stepped forward to say something but Mickey just pushed past him, carrying his army duffel bag to the door. The redhead stood in the middle of the apartment, looking as if he desperately wanted to say something. He opened his mouth but Mickey cut him off.

                “Are you fucking coming or not?”

                Ian dropped his gaze and nodded silently, following Mickey out of the apartment.

                About halfway through their walk in the New York streets, Ian looked around in confusion. They’d been walking longer than usual.

                “I thought we were going to work?”

                Mickey elected to ignore him, much to Ian’s distress. “Mick…”

                “Jesus Christ, I thought you wanted to go the fucking zoo?” Mickey snapped. Ian visibly winced, returning his attention to the ground until they made it to the Central Park Zoo. The second they were inside, Ian’s mood flipped. He was grabbing at Mickey’s sleeve roughly like a little kid, dragging him over to the snow leopards. Mickey followed as best he could, since he was still in pain from his last ‘visit’ there. There was a mesh wall where people could come pretty much face to face with them, and Ian insisted on practically leaning against it so he and Mickey could take a selfie with the leopard who was curious of them enough to meander over to the mesh. Mickey just let Ian get whatever the fuck this was out of his system as he dragged the limping boy over to the Tisch Children’s Zoo so Ian could fawn over the baby goats, sheep and alpacas. Especially the stupid alpacas. Well, he couldn’t really call them stupid seeing as how he was the one willingly petting them. He had to admit, they were pretty fucking soft. Ian ran around much like this the whole time, stopping only for a few moments to get souvenirs for his family and Mandy. He fed the sea lions, saw the penguins, and pretty much did everything he wanted to with so much fervor that Mickey was exhausted by Ian’s energy at the end of the day.

                Then came the time that Ian was dreading for the last two weeks. It was time for him to get back on that bus home. He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay with Mickey for as long as he could. They stood in silence at the bus stop until Ian saw it rounding the corner, when he turned to Mickey with a sad smile.

                “I guess this is it.”

                “Yep,” Mickey said coldly. Ian frowned, stepping closer to him.

                “I can probably come back in the summer, we can be together much longer.” Ian reached out to touch Mickey’s shoulder but his hand came up to swat his away.

                “Together? The fuck makes you think we’re together?”

                Ian looked dumbstruck. He hands gripped his duffel bag tighter, clutching it close like it was holding him to earth.

                “Um, but I thought. The last two weeks, I mean—“

                “What? You think just ‘cause I let you fuck me, that we’re suddenly boyfriend and girlfriend? What the fuck is the matter with you?” Mickey knew how cold he was being, but it was the only way. He couldn’t let their little ‘spring fling’ affair turn into anything more. He had to cut it off before Ian hurt him.

                “Mickey—“ Ian reached out once more but Mickey stepped back, his eyes narrowing.

                “What the fuck did I just say to you?”

                Ian stared at Mickey, his eyes wet and his fists clenching tightly. He searched Mickey’s eyes for an explanation but if there was anything Mickey was good at, it was compartmentalizing. He just had to tell himself that this pain would be nothing compared to what could happen down the line when Ian changes his mind and leaves him, and he could block any emotion from showing. It was a talent, really. A talent he was regretting as Ian leaned forward to kiss him, and Mickey just turned his head away.

                “Your bus is here.”

                “Mickey please, what did I do?!”

                “Nothing. The last two weeks were a mistake. I knew you should have never come here.”

                Ian looked like he was going to be sick, but he said nothing more. He took a deep, shaky breath before turning away from Mickey and stepping up onto the bus. It was packed, and he sat by the window. As soon as he sat, he broke down. His head was in his hands and his shoulders were shaking violently and Mickey was sure that if he listened close enough he would hear the heartbreaking sound of sobs. His heart clenched, but it was over. A woman nearby was staring at him with eyes like a venomous snake, her lips pressed tightly together in disapproval.

                “The fuck are you looking at?” Mickey snapped.

                “A fool.” The woman said simply, making her way onto the bus and sitting beside Ian before the bus began to drive away. The last thing he saw was Ian crying into the woman’s shoulder and the woman flipping Mickey off.

                A fool, indeed.


	12. Final Exit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey finds a bottle of pills that Ian left behind and discovers his worst nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (WARNING THERE IS A SUICIDE ATTEMPT IN THIS CHAPTER!) Two chapters in one day wow I'm on a roll. Also I'm SORRY for this very sad chapter. I promise the torture is almost over babes, hang in there! <3

                Mickey’s apartment had never felt so empty before. _He’d_ never felt so empty before. It had been three days since Ian left and Mickey still hadn’t gotten out of bed. He asked for time off from work because of his ankle, but that wasn’t the real reason. He just wanted to wallow. He got several calls from his sister that he ignored, but none from Ian. Nothing from Ian. He wasn’t even online at Intercon-X. He figured this was how it should be. No more sessions, no more talking, no more even thinking of each other. After all, that’s what should happen after a professional relationship stops being professional, right?

                Mickey wasn’t sure anymore. All he knew was that he felt this disgusting emptiness in his chest and the woman’s words were running through his mind like a discordant, carnival merry go round tune.

                A fool. He was a fucking fool. A fucking pathetic fool who didn’t deserve what Ian would have offered him if he wasn’t such an asshole. Mickey had been caused pain his entire life. By his father who did nothing but fag bash and would have killed him if he knew he was gay, by his mother who died too soon and left her kids with her abusive husband. By every teacher who told him he wasn’t smart enough, his little league coach who assured him he wasn’t good enough. He pissed on first base just to get back at him, and then got kicked off the team. And wasn’t that just how it always went? Someone caused him pain, or at least he thought they might in the future, and he pissed on them one way or another until it came back to bite him in the ass. That’s exactly what happened with Ian.

                Ian never gave him reason to believe that he would hurt him, but he pissed on him just the same. And now he was alone again. He couldn’t get on Intercon-X, everything would remind him of Ian in some way. So instead, he lied in bed for days wallowing alone in the bullshit life he created and eating everything his kitchen had to offer and drinking through almost all of his liquor. On the fourth day of his binge drinking, he woke up that night to find he drank through all of his alcohol and was left with the hangover from Hell. His head was throbbing intensely and he practically had to crawl to the bathroom to look for his painkillers. Upon opening the medicine cabinet, he found a pill bottle that didn’t belong.

                Mickey scrunched up his nose as he tried to refocus his hazy vision to read the bottle. The prescription had Ian’s name on it, but as he shook it he came to the conclusion that the bottle was completely full. He headed back to his bed, more than a little curious.

                The label said “lithium carbonate”. What the fuck was that? He decided he couldn’t call Ian, so he’d just call Mandy and ask about it. He regretted hitting the call button almost as soon as he hit it, especially after hearing Mandy’s shrill voice on the other line.

                “Where the fuck have you been?” She demanded.

                “Nice to hear from you too. Look, Ian left a bottle of pills here. It’s pretty much full, so should I mail it back or something?”

                “Pills? What kind of pills?”

                “Uh, it says lithium carbonate.”

                “Shit, and you said it’s full?”

                “Yeah, why? What are they for?”

                “Mick! He was supposed to take those for the two weeks he was there!” Mandy sounded panicked, and Mickey didn’t understand why.

                “I didn’t know! He didn’t tell me anything. What are they for?” Mickey asked as he examined the bottle.

                “They’re mood stabilizers. He _needs_ them Mickey, seriously. You gotta call him.”

                “Why do I have to call him? Can’t I just mail this shit to him?”

                “No, because you’re the asshole who made him miserable. So now you get to fix it.”

                “He won’t pick up, even if I call.” Mickey heard Mandy huff on the other line before the call was disconnected. He muttered curses to himself as he rolled the bottle around in his hand, wondering exactly why Ian needed mood stabilizers. A few moments later, he received a text from Mandy.

                **[Mandy] 11:46 PM:** www.finalexit.com go there. he’s usually there when he’s upset. FIX IT!!!

                Mickey rolled his eyes, but did as his sister told him. He logged into the website, alarmed to find that it was a suicide webcam site. There were currently 8 people online, including himself, and they were all talking about suicide. Painless ways to do it, so-called “dignified” ways. Mickey was horrified, especially when he saw Ian’s webcam in the lower left hand corner. There was a bottle of vodka and scattered pills all over his desk and Mickey could only see the lower half of his face as it seemed that the webcam had fallen onto his keyboard.

                “Gallagher!?” Mickey shouted over the clamor of the chatroom. He saw Ian’s lips twitch into a twisted, sad smile.

                “Oh, look. It’s Mickey. Hey Mickey!” Ian grinned, almost like the Cheshire cat, and waved the bottle of vodka around before taking a huge swig. His cheeks were wet and flushed. Mickey muted everyone else in the chatroom except for Ian, his heart pounding painfully against his chest.

                “Ian, what the fuck are you doing?”

                “I’m just forgetting the _mistake_ I made by going to New York. That’s what it was, right? A big fucking mistake?” Ian laughed bitterly, taking another drink and scrunching up his nose before grabbing a handful of the pills that were spilled on his desk. Mickey could only watch in horror.

                “Ian? How many pills was that?” Mickey asked frantically.

                “Don’t worry, just the usual.” Ian’s speech was slowing down and he reached for another handful of the pills, washing them down with the vodka.

                “I think you need to call 911,” Mickey’s voice wavered. He would have already called 911, but he didn’t know Ian’s address. “Ian. Ian? How many fucking pills did you take? Ian!”

                Ian’s head was drooping down to rest on his arm, and Mickey could now see his face. The bags and dark circles under his eyes were bad enough that they almost looked like Mandy’s black eye makeup when it got smudged. His cheeks were red and sensitive from crying, and Mickey felt like he was going to be sick.

                “I don’t know,” Ian slurred, finally answering Mickey’s question. “Like a bunch…”

                “Ian? Ian! Fuck,” Mickey desperately grabbed at his phone as Ian stopped responding, his eyes fluttering shut and his head falling to the desk. Mickey’s heart felt as though it were trying to escape from his ribs, making him feel lightheaded and helpless. Mandy wasn’t picking up. Fuck, why the fuck wasn’t Mandy picking up? Fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ Mickey couldn’t breathe. The seconds ticked by painfully slow and the worst part was that Mickey was the only one freaking out. The other people in their webcams kept their conversation going, ignoring completely that one of their friends was dying. Then again, this was a suicide site wasn’t it?

                Mickey shook his head violently and brought up his personal contact list, video calling the owner of Intercon-X with one simple message: 911.

                Mickey had never properly met the guy who ran Intercon-X, but he needed to talk to him, to get Ian’s address.

                After a few painstakingly long moments, the call was accepted and Mickey found himself spewing out word vomit.

                “Ah, Mick. Been meaning to talk to you—“

                “I-I need a billing address of one of my clients, right now.” Mickey watched as Lip’s face contorted in confusion.

                “Uh, I’m sorry Mick. I don’t look at that information.”

                Mickey did not have time for this guy to jerk him around.

                “I don’t fucking care, I need it so I can call an ambulance. The guy’s fucking dying, he just washed down a bunch of pills with booze. I’m not gonna fucking ask again—“

                “Jesus Christ, okay. Do you know the guy’s name?”

                “Ian Gallagher.” Lip looked up at him, his eyes wide.

                “Son of a _bitch_ ,” he cursed, kicking away from his desk so fast that he knocked the chair over as he stood, hauling ass out of the room. Mickey stared in utter confusion before a few seconds later he turned his attention back to Final Exit and saw Lip running into Ian’s room, frantically shaking him as he called an ambulance on his own phone. Mickey was stunned. He had no idea Ian’s brother ran Intercon-X. But that was the last thing on his mind right then. Mickey stayed on the website until the paramedics came and took Ian away. He was left staring into Ian’s empty room, the desk covered in spilled vodka and pills. Mickey’s hand shook violently as he stuffed Ian’s bottle of lithium into his pocket and grabbed his phone, making a call to the airport to buy a ticket for the next flight out to Chicago.


	13. Prove It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lip manages to get Mickey in to see Ian, who is conflicted about his feelings toward Mickey. In a desperate attempt to win Ian back, Mickey proves how strongly he feels for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 5 am. No editing. I am so sleepy I might die. I might actually be done with this by today or tomorrow, which kind of makes me sad. Or maybe I'll keep it going, let me know what you think guys <3

                Mickey hated hospitals. They even had their own distinguishable scent, as if warning him away. As a kid, Mickey told his science teacher that he loved the smell of freshly cut grass, and she proceeded to inform him that the smell is actually a plant distress call. He felt the same went for the smell of a hospital. The unnaturally clean, cold scent of sick souls seemed to call out to him for help via his nostrils. It disturbed and irked him and made it impossible for him to sit still in the waiting room. He’d made a scene just minutes before. He tried to get past the doors to go see Ian, but the nurse said he had to be family to visit with the patient. He told her to go fuck herself and ran for the doors, but a security guard’s arms were locked securely around his waist before he made it over the threshold. He’d been dragged back into the waiting room and forced down into a seat, and now the guard was keeping an eye on him from several feet away. Mickey’s feet bounced angrily on the floor, the woman’s words still careening around in his head, distorted and mocking. A fool.

                Mickey felt he was on the verge of crying when the doors opened, and he saw Lip striding out towards him with stony expression. Mickey shot up from his chair despite the roiling shame in his stomach and forced himself to make eye contact with Lip.

                “How is he?” Mickey cursed himself for allowing his voice to waver.

                “He’s stable, sleeping.”

                Fuck. Lip’s monotone voice and his stone-cold glare made Mickey feel almost like God himself was judging him. The security guard watched from afar, biting his lips as if he were wondering whether or not he’d need to intervene if a fight broke out. And Lip definitely looked like he would have fought Mickey right then and there, but something in the way Lip’s eyes searched Mickey’s entire being reassured him that there’d be no fists.

                “You really fucked up.”

                “I know, you don’t need to re—“

                “Remind you? Yeah I do, considering you were supposed to remind _him_ to take his meds. He shouldn’t have been off them for those two weeks, it really fucked him up.” Lip crossed his arms over his chest, his fists clenched tight. “Not to mention the way you treated him. That was _really_ fucked up.”

                “He never told me that he had to take pills, or I would’ve gotten him to take them. And stop reminding me of what a fuck-up I am, the bitch on the bus did enough of that to last a lifetime.”

                “What are you talking about?” Lip asked in confusion.

                “No one, nevermind…” Mickey let his gaze drop back to the hospital floor, the shame creeping up his throat like bile. He could still feel Lip’s eyes boring into him. He could have sworn smoke would have started coming from the side of his head where Lip was staring.

                Lip cleared his throat. “Mandy told him that if you came back for him, you’d never leave again.” Mickey chanced a look at Lip who, though obviously still upset, had relaxed somewhat. Mickey straightened up, meeting his eyes once more.

                “I don’t do anything half-assed. I either say ‘I never wanna see your face again’… Or I act like an asshole until I run after him like a little bitch and beg him to forgive me.”

                “And?” Lip prompted.

                “And I’ve already acted like an asshole. And I ran after him, tail between my fuckin’ legs.”

                Lip’s mouth almost twitched into a smile but he composed himself. He stared Mickey down until the brunet was forced to drop his gaze again, feeling horrible under Lip’s scrutinizing eyes.

                “Come on then, _bro_.” Lip put his arm around Mickey’s shoulders and started leading him toward the double doors leading to the psych ward. The nurse tried to stop him, but Lip insisted Mickey was as good as family by way of marriage. A step brother. The nurse shot him a dirty look but allowed them to pass, figuring it’d be less trouble in the long run.

                Mickey jogged down the halls, trying to peer into each room and find Ian until Lip caught up with him, forcing him to slow down and walking him to Ian’s room.

                When they made it to the door, Mickey heard Ian inside calling out for a nurse. This was it. Fuck. He was about to turn back when Lip shot him a deadly look and pushed him toward the door. Mickey opened the door automatically, walking inside as if he were being controlled by some other force. A force that was obviously much braver than he was.

~~~~

                Ian woke up with a disgustingly bitter taste in his mouth, which was too dry for comfort. His throat itched and he had to cough but as he tried to reach up to cover his mouth, he found he couldn’t move his hands. His wrists were strapped to the bed and he couldn’t move them much. Or at all. There was a high pitched sound coming from a patient information monitor somewhere behind him and he started squirming, distressed that he couldn’t cover his ears. They were overly sensitive and the sound was too much.

                “Nurse? Nurse!” Ian closed his eyes tight, writhing in the hospital bed and trying to yell as loud as his sore throat would allow him to. He heard the door open and clutched the sheets below him.

                “Please, turn off the monitor,” he whined. “Th-that fucking sound, turn it off,” the high-pitched noise was cut off finally, and Ian’s body relaxed.

                “So, what’d I miss?” Ian opened his eyes, expecting to see a nurse, but was filled with a heavy dread in his chest when he saw that it was Mickey.

                “Before or after they pumped your stomach?”

                “Ugh, forget I asked,” Ian groaned, trying to lose the image of having his stomach pumped. At this point, he didn’t care that he was in the hospital. He didn’t care that he’d almost died. He didn’t care that Mickey, the boy who broke him, was standing right beside him. He was thinking clearly for the first time in a week, and all he could think was now Mickey thought he was a basketcase. Ian remembered once how they were talking about being home in Chicago, and Mickey had referred to Sheila as Batty Sheila because she was ‘bat-shit crazy’. Well now that’s what he was. Batty Ian. He winced as Mickey pulled out his bottle of lithium from his pocket and put it down on the bedside table.    

                “You didn’t tell me,” said Mickey simply. Ian avoided looking at Mickey, and instead stared at the straps on his wrists.

                “I thought I could last two weeks without them. And I did, mostly. I just forgot to start taking them again when I got back…”

                “Why?” Mickey pulled up the chair in the corner of the room close to Ian’s bed. He tried to move so he could draw Ian’s gaze but he refused to look at him.

                “Why do you _think_ I forgot?” Ian snapped.

                “I meant, why didn’t you take them? It wouldn’t have mattered if you did. You would have been okay.”

                “Sometimes… the meds, sometimes I can’t get it up because of them.” Ian gave a pathetic shrug.

                “Are you fucking kidding me? Your health is way more important than whether or not you can fuck me. What the hell is wrong with you?”

                “Yeah Mickey, that’s what _I’ve_ been wondering,” Ian glared up at Mickey, his eyes filling with tears already. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

                Mickey recoiled at the venom in Ian’s voice. “Nothing’s wrong with you. I’m an asshole. Haven’t you figured that out by now?” Ian scoffed, deflating further into the pillow and mattress as tears made their way down his cheeks.

                “Ian… I fucked up. I know that. And you have no idea how _sorry_ I am.”

                “Sorry doesn’t mean shit anymore,” Ian mumbled brokenly.

                “ _I am._ I want to be with you, I really do. I don’t deserve it after the shit that I pulled, but I really fucking miss you and the last few days were miserable.”

                Ian’s eyes drifted shut and he shook his head. “You don’t mean that.”

                “I do,” Mickey said, slipping his shaking hand into Ian’s hair. “I swear.”

                “Don’t swear it,” Ian glared up at him, and Mickey was sure that if he didn’t look so depressed that he’d have seen actual fire in those eyes. “Prove it.”

                “You want me to prove it?” Mickey asked, sounding bitter as he laughed darkly and pulled out his phone. “Fine, I’ll fucking prove it. And I swear to god if this isn’t enough for you to give me another chance, I will kill you my goddamn self.” Mickey pulled up the Skype app and video called Mandy, moving so he was lying on the edge of the hospital bed. Once she picked up and saw Ian, she started spouting off questions about his well-being until Mickey stopped her.

                “Mandy, is dad home?”

                “Yeah, but Ian are you—“

                “ _Put dad on the fucking camera._ ” Mickey growled. Mandy stared into the camera for a moment, obviously picking up that her brother was having none of anyone’s shit today, before she dropped her arm to her side and started walking through the Milkovich home calling her dad’s name.

                “What are you doing?” Ian asked suspiciously.

                “Shut the fuck up. You wanted me to prove how much I’m willing to do to get you back? Well here’s your fucking proof.”

                The screen now showed Mickey’s disgruntled father, who’d obviously been stricken with a violent hangover by the way he squinted at the screen. _Great,_ Mickey mused as his heart jumped repeatedly at his ribs. _Now he’ll be_ twice _as pissed._

                “The fuck do you want?” Terry asked gruffly. Mickey took the deepest breath he could manage before he took the plunge into near insanity.

                “Hey dad. Just thought you should know, I’m fucking gay. I suck dick, and I fucking _take_ it and beg for it like a good boy. Check intercom-x.com if you think I’m kidding. Or actually, better yet—“ Mickey turned his head toward Ian and pulled him into a deep kiss. Ian sighed pleasurably, he’d missed the way Mickey kissed him. But even more, he missed the way Mickey touched him. The hand that held his phone had dropped to Ian’s stomach, still recording them, while the other hand tangled through Ian’s hair and held him into the kiss. Ian told himself that if Mickey came back, no matter what, he wouldn’t kiss him. He wouldn’t take him back. But now Ian couldn’t even fight back. His hands were literally tied, yes, but if he wanted to he could have easily yanked his head away or headbutted Mickey. Instead he pushed forward, kissing Mickey back with an insatiable force and wishing that he could touch the brunet. Mickey was shaking violently, his lips quivering against Ian’s, and a few profane shouts of disgust came through the video call before the call was dropped. When Mickey finally pulled away, he was white as a sheet and looked as if he were about to cry or scream. Maybe both.

                “I can’t fucking believe you did that,” Ian muttered, awestruck.

                “I can’t fucking believe I did that.” Mickey recoiled so quickly that he almost fell off the bed. His eyes were wide and Ian almost laughed with the thought that Mickey’s eyebrows might as well have been soaring overhead with how arched they were.

                “What the fuck are you laughing at? Ian he’s gonna fucking kill me!” Mickey shot up from the bed in a panic, now pacing around the room. He didn’t regret what he did if it got Ian to take him back, but that didn’t stop him from being absolutely terrified. In a way it felt freeing, to finally be out and not have to worry about someone blowing his secret. But still, absolutely terrified was his prime emotion. That is until Ian reached over with his leg and kicked him in the hip to stop his pacing.

                “I guess… you’ll just have to lie low in New York from now on.” Ian mumbled.

                _Oh._ Mickey’s shoulders slumped in absolute defeat. His chest heaved and he was having difficulty breathing. Ian had pretty much just told him to go home, and it came through. Loud and clear. After what he just did for him? He put himself quite literally on death row for Ian, but he was still telling him to go away. Mickey’s throat contracted as if he were going to throw up as dizziness over came him, but he could only gag. Fear and self-loathing choked him, but he nodded at Ian and started to walk out of the room. It was over. He fucked up for the last time, Ian wasn’t going to forgive him.

                He thought he could melt away into the core of the earth and just wallow forever when he reached the door of the hospital room.

                “I got accepted,” Ian’s tentative voice piped up behind him, “to Parsons.”

                Mickey froze, turning slowly to see Ian watching him. Their eyes locked for a seemingly impossible length of time that almost exceeded forever before Mickey realized he meant The New School for Design. In New York.

                “Graduation’s in a few weeks, and I’m not going to have the money to rent my own place by the time I move. So, I’m gonna need somewhere to stay…” Ian’s voice was so small but he had no idea how it seemed to be a lifesaver for Mickey, dragging him up immediately out of the ocean of despair he was about to dive into. Mickey grinned, but let himself become serious again when Ian sighed tiredly.

                “It’s not a promise that everything’s going to be perfect. It’s just a promise that we’ll try. Now go home, before Terry comes looking for you…” Ian looked so conflicted about his choice to give Mickey a second chance. It was more than he deserved, but he intended not to fuck it up this time. Mickey hurried out of the hospital after a last, long glance at Ian.

                Mickey wasn’t sure exactly when he fell for Ian. It happened slowly from the moment they started video chatting, and during Ian’s visit it had become apparent that Mickey no doubt felt deeply for Ian.

                But he could pinpoint the moment he knew he couldn’t live without Ian, and that was when he saw his fragile, tired body strapped down in that hospital bed. Mickey was going to make sure nothing like this ever happened to Ian again.

                It was time for Mickey to stop being a fool.


	14. Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's two weeks after Mickey sees Ian in Chicago, and he's back in New York waiting to hear from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating might be a bit slow from now on since I've started my contribution for the Shameless Big Bang challenge.

                Two weeks. It had been two weeks since Mickey had seen Ian in the hospital. He hadn’t spoken to Ian in that time so he didn’t know how he was doing. All he knew was that Mandy had been to see him once and she said he was recovering just fine. She was apparently staying with the Gallaghers now, and Mickey didn’t blame her. He didn’t even want to think how pissed Terry must have been, and he was definitely grateful to the Gallaghers for allowing her to stay with them. He just wished Ian would hurry up and get released from the hospital so he could talk to him again. It was torturous, especially since they parted ways on such uncertain terms. He hated being in New York, sitting at his home on his fucking computer waiting for Ian to call him. He just wanted to see his face. Every five minutes or so he would open Intercon-X just to look at Ian’s contact picture. He was looking at the camera with smoldering eyes, wearing a grey beanie. It was a fucking hot picture, if Mickey was being honest. Mickey had whacked off to it more times than he could count, especially in the last two weeks. His boss had emailed him a manuscript he was to edit but he could hardly focus on it. He kept coming back to that picture.

                He finally figured he wasn’t going to get any work done if he kept switching tabs like this, so he finally gave up and saved the manuscript, closing it and opening Intercon-X. His hands found their way automatically to his sweatpants, pushing them down just enough so he could free his hardening dick. This was the only way Mickey could feel close to Ian again, since he couldn’t talk to him. He wrapped his fingers around his dick, desperately wishing it was Ian’s lips, his tongue. What a tongue that redhead had. Talented, for sure. His memory floated back to the night before Ian was to go home. That was the first time anyone had ever rimmed Mickey. Mickey loved the idea, it was one of his favorite things in porn. But it had never been an option before. His only hook-ups prior to Ian were in the south side, which meant that there wasn’t time for things like rimming or blowjobs. Just sex, getting it done as fast as possible before someone could catch them. But it was different from Ian, in the safe seclusion of his apartment. Soon to be _their_ apartment, hopefully.

                Mickey was getting close, his cheeks flushed and his hips bucking up off his chair until he was fucking his fist. He wanted to feel it again, Ian spreading his ass and teasing his hole with his tongue. Mickey could almost feel the vibration that would emanate from Ian’s tongue through his body as he hummed while he ate him out. Mickey pulled off his shirt quickly with his free hand, holding it in front of him as he hit his climax and came hard. He couldn’t help the repeated moans of Ian’s name that came from his lips, almost like a needy chant for some kind of love spell. Hell, he’d probably need to use a love spell to get Ian back properly.

                As Mickey panted and came down from his orgasm, the sound of a video call tone erupted from his speakers. He dropped his soiled shirt to the floor, almost falling out of his chair as he pulled his sweatpants back up and accepted the call as quickly as his trembling hand would allow. He hadn’t bothered to check the contact name, just prayed that it was Ian. The camera was taking a while to load, but his prayers were answered through the speakers.

                “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” That smug, teasing voice was unmistakable. Mickey snickered and shook his head.

                “What makes you think you are?”

                “Your chest always gets flushed and blotchy when you have a good orgasm.”

                The camera finally loaded, and Mickey found himself trying to find all the words that could describe the way he felt when he saw that red hair and that lopsided grin. Delirium, ecstasy, bliss, euphoria, _rapture._ But if he had to describe it truthfully, it was relief that he felt. Relief that Ian was alive. Relief that he could still smile. Relief that he didn’t look so fragile anymore. And relief that he obviously didn’t hate Mickey if he was calling him.

                “How would you know that?”

                “’Cause I’ve been the cause of most of those orgasms.” Ian winked and the boys couldn’t help but laugh. There was nothing to laugh at or even smile at, but their relief was almost visible. Mickey was afraid that Ian would still be angry at him, and Ian was afraid that Mickey would be awkward with him now that he knew about his disorder. But the moment they saw each other their tension was washed away. Their laughter died down and they were left staring at each other. Mickey was the first to speak up.

                “How are you feeling?”

                Ian shrugged, looking down at his hands. “I don’t know. Better, I guess.” Mickey gave an awkward nod and chewed on the corner of his lip. He wanted to know what Ian was thinking. It had become his priority to know every thought that went through that carrot top’s head. But after what happened, Mickey didn’t expect to be entrusted with Ian’s thoughts and feelings. Not yet anyway.

                “They finally let you go home?”

                “Yeah, I’m up to my fucking ears in makeup work for school, so I can graduate on time.” Ian gestured to the open binder next to him. Mickey could just make out the formulas and numbers on the page. “I’d rather be talking to you though, so I abandoned it for now.” Mickey smiled at the thought that Ian wanted to talk to him. Then again, most people would do anything other than homework.

                “Yeah I’m ignoring work too.”

                “Oh, is that what they’re calling it now?” Ian laughed, making a crude gesture with his hand.

                “Well, what else is there to do but work, work out, and _work one_ out?”

                “Read?”

                “Sorry, reading is already filed under ‘work’.”

                Ian smiled up into the camera and it felt almost like old times, before everything got so complicated and fucked up.

                “Well… hopefully your aversion to reading outside of work won’t stop you from helping me study when I’m enrolled at Parsons.”

                “So you’re still moving here then?” Mickey had spent the last two weeks telling himself not to count his chickens before they hatch. That being said, he had been obsessively cleaning and reorganizing the apartment. He’d even gone out looking for a replacement couch since Ian seemed to hate the purple houndstooth patterned behemoth he had.

                “I said I would, right?” Ian’s smile wavered just a bit, and Mickey felt his heart wrench at the sight.

                “I want to fix this, Mickey. When I said I loved you, I meant it. I still do. Even if you didn’t come to see me, even if you didn’t come out to your dad for me, I don’t think I would have ever stopped loving you. That being said,” Ian straightened up in his chair, his expression turning serious, “there is no ‘three strikes and you’re out’ thing here. Either you take this second chance as seriously as possible, or you don’t get another. Because I can’t go through that again, Mick. I fucking can’t.” Ian’s voice broke ever so slightly at the end of his speech. Mickey felt sick, the way he did when he saw Ian pass out in a puddle of vodka and pills. He made Ian feel that way, and it was his most regrettable mistake. But he was never going to do that again. As far as he was concerned, Ian was it for him. And as he already proved, he’d do anything to convince Ian of that.

                “You just tell me when you’re coming, and I promise I’m gonna make this second chance worth it. I promise.”


	15. I Miss You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have their final internet tryst before Ian is to move in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I managed to get the first 5,200 words of my fic for the Big Bang so I took a break to write up a new chapter for On_Line, and I'm about to write the next chapter for Twelve Steps. Enjoy!

                Mickey had totally not been constantly talking to Ian for the last two months. Definitely not. He also had totally not gotten a new, nice couch that now sat proudly in the middle of his apartment. Hell no. And of course, he’d totally not been using that stupid Dreamdays app to count down the days until Ian was finally moving in. If asked, he would just say that Ian always started their conversations, he hated the old couch anyway, and he only knew how many days were left because he was good with dates. But none of that was true. Every day, Mickey would find some useless little bit of information to start up a conversation, even if it was just a simple text that read “fuckhead” or a picture of his morning wood. He looked through tons of cheap places for a couch that was big and comfortable but would still please Ian. And every single morning, he would unlock his phone to open Dreamdays, breathing out with relief that another day had passed and he was still living without Ian. But that wasn’t to last. In just three days, Ian would get his diploma from graduation and most importantly gather up all his shit and drive up to New York.

                He stopped working for Intercon-X. Somehow, being the virtual pimp of his lover’s brother was just an extremely uncomfortable situation. Go figure. He took on a bigger workload from his job to pay the bills, which Ian promised he’d help with. Better to have two sets of eyes revising some uneducated fuckwad’s attempt at a contemporary novel than just one. Besides Mickey was pretty sure that if he saw one more dangling goddamn participle without Ian there to calm him down, then he was going to grab an axe and go batshit crazy. The material was usually raunchy, but that was no excuse for the level of shit that these so-called ‘authors’ had let their grammar reach. How hard was it to pick up a fucking English textbook?

                Mickey had been having a mental tirade over one such manuscript that he was supposed to be editing, which had him sitting at his computer with wide eyes and muttering to himself in utter confusion as he tried to make sense of the kindergarten-like writing, when his computer rang with a video call. He dropped the offensive material to his desk and answered the call, not missing the way Ian smirked in amusement when he saw the brunet’s frustration plain on his face.

                “Everything alright?”

                “’Course. Why wouldn’t it be? Everything’s peachy fuckin’ keen.” Mickey’s bad mood began to wash away the moment he heard Ian’s laugh. Then he thought that was queer as hell so he tried to make himself mad again by looking down at the manuscript once more, but Ian was still laughing so he couldn’t even pretend to pout. Prick.

                “What are you laughing at?” Mickey snapped.

                “Nothing. Mandy’s been staying here and she’s been telling me some interesting things about you.”

                “Like?”

                “Like you have a countdown to Thursday on your phone.”

                “Do fuckin’ not!” Mickey clutched at his phone defensively as if Ian were going to snatch it up through the webcam. Ian then smiled the warmest smile Mickey had ever seen, and he felt as though that warmth was radiating even through the screen. Ian unlocked his phone and held it up to his webcam, and a crimson flush crept up under Mickey’s collar as he saw the Dreamdays countdown to Thursday, and the cover photo was a picture of Mickey sleeping.

                “You’re so queer,” Mickey sniggered and unlocked his phone to hold it up so Ian could see his own countdown, the picture of Ian in his beanie as the background.

                “Oh, and you’re not?” Ian asked, looking pointedly at Mickey’s phone.

                “Not as queer as you.”

                “Says Thursday night’s bottom.” Ian’s smile grew and grew until Mickey thought it would take up his whole face. Just then, Mickey didn’t want to hold back anymore. So he let himself grin, let himself sit there and make jokes with Ian and ask how graduation went, even allowing himself to appear as interested as he usually pretended he wasn’t. He let Ian tease him about how he’s ‘let himself go’ since they last met and Mickey made a mental note to get a haircut and shave before Ian came. He really had let himself go. He had grown somewhat of a beard and his hair was a spiky mess from lying in bed, and though he should have been his usual weight he had dropped to 138. It didn’t seem a big deal to him considering that was still an acceptable weight for his height, but Ian was quick to question whether he’d been eating or not.

                “You really miss me that much?” Ian teased.

                “Hell no.” Mickey snorted and moved to pour himself a glass of Jameson. A wicked smile overcame Ian’s lips and he leaned in toward the camera.

                “What do you say we do it one last time, for old time’s sake?”

                “Do what?” Mickey’s eyebrows arched up in confusion, but his mouth began to hang open when he saw Ian’s hands going for his jeans.

                “Take off your pants, Mick.”

                “You’re not gonna blue ball me like you used to, right?” Mickey questioned as he pushed his boxers down to his ankles.

                “No promises.” Ian wiggled his eyebrows and pushed his jeans down, not missing the way Mickey’s tongue flicked out over his bottom lip when he pulled out his dick. Mickey was already half hard and Ian had pretty much been raring to go since before the call even started. They didn’t do much over the internet anymore after Ian had gotten out of the hospital. They mostly talked and joked and watched movies together. That is, they loaded the same link with the movie and pressed play at the same time and spent the entire movie staring at each other’s video feed rather than at the movie. But both boys had sorely missed those two weeks when Ian was visiting, when they had sex at least once a day and were almost always touching in some way. They missed the closeness. And for now, this was as close as they could get.

                “You were _such_ a good boy for me last time, you did just what I told you and you didn’t come at all until I got there. Can you be good for me again?” Ian phrased it like a question but Mickey knew it was an order by his tone. ‘Can you’ might as well be ‘you will’.

                “Not like I got a choice.” Mickey said in a breathy moan, already stroking himself much to the redhead’s liking if his chronic lip licking was any indication. The fist that Ian wasn’t fucking was balled up in the hem of his shirt. Sometimes, watching each other get off was just as hot, if not more so, as when they fucked. Ian’s chin had lifted to expose his neck and Mickey found that he missed seeing his marks on that neck, missed kissing it. His fingers ached with the need to wrap around the back of Ian’s neck and pull him in for a deep kiss.

                Mickey wasn’t sure what he was saying anymore. He was vaguely aware that he’d started mewling out words but he couldn’t focus, he was paying far too much attention to the boy on his screen. Only when Ian spoke did Mickey realize that he’d been moaning out that he was about to come.

                “Hands on the glass,” Ian ordered.

                “Please, _please_ don’t—“

                “Now.”

                Begrudgingly, Mickey tore his hands away from his cock and wrapped them around his glass of Jameson. It was worse than the last time, booze splashing out of the glass as his hands trembled and his hips bucked in desperation. His senses were fuzzy as he begged and begged Ian to let him come. But Ian was effectively ignoring his pleas.

                Ian planted his feet on the floor and pushed his hips up, groaning and whimpering as he came in hot, pulsing spurts. A blithesome grin built slowly on his lips and he chuckled breathily, now looking at Mickey who was squirming and whining. Mickey felt lightheaded and he muttered profanities at Ian before leaning back in his chair, figuring if he wasn’t allowed to come he might as well try to relax.

                “You are such a douche.” Mickey groaned, watching the way Ian’s come was still dripping down his cock. _What a waste of come,_ he thought to himself. Ian reached for a tissue nearby and cleaned himself off, never taking his eyes off Mickey. Finally he pulled his jeans back up and gulped, his mouth probably dry from his arousal just like Mickey’s was.

                “Hey Mick?” He asked tentatively.

                “What?”

                “I can’t wait to kiss you again.”

                Mickey snorted, making sure that Ian didn’t see him blush. “You’re so gay.”

                Ian only grinned wider. “I miss you too.” Ian winked before ending the call, leaving Mickey sitting alone in the echoes of his suddenly too big apartment once again.

                “I miss you.”


	16. Sweet and Slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian's finally graduated and ready to make his move to New York. Mickey is scared that things will never be the same, but all his worries are for naught.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to get this out! Also I'm just curious what you guys think, I might record a podfic to go along with my fic for the Shameless Big Bang, so let me know in the comments ( or you can tell me at solipsistic-crowing.tumblr.com ) if you think that would be a good idea or not and what you think of this chapter because I don't know how I feel about it. Thanks for reading! :)

                Mickey had the distinct sensation of having his heart ripped out of his chest by a monster straight out of Alien Vs. Predator. The first time Ian was getting off the bus in New York, Mickey was more or less certain of what was to happen afterwards. But now Mickey hadn’t the slightest clue. He guessed his biggest fear was that Ian would see him and be too angry, too disgusted, and change his mind. Or even worse, if Ian stayed and things never went back to normal. Then Mickey would be stuck around his own apartment being constantly reminded that he’d fucked up. He hoped that wouldn’t be the case.

                It was hot as balls out; 87 degrees last Mickey checked. He’d been torturing himself by getting to the bus stop an hour earlier than Ian was supposed to arrive. To calm his nerves he smoked through half a pack of cigarettes before he decided it was way too hot for that and he got a large chocolate ice cream. It was fully loaded with all kinds of sugary shit he really shouldn’t be eating considering he was looking to relax. But Mickey liked ‘em sweet, so sue him. Actually don’t sue him, he could barely afford that fucking ice cream what with all the toppings. Bits of cookie dough, bits of oreos, strawberry and chocolate syrup, rainbow sprinkles and gummy worms. Yeah, he was pretty sure he’d get either diabetes or a cavity before the bus came. Maybe both.

                Luckily he wasn’t in need of an insulin shot just yet when he saw the bus rounding the corner. He suddenly felt too exposed for this meeting. He was wearing a black wife beater and a pair of jeans he’d cut the legs off of so that they came down to just above his knees, and pair of worn out old trainers. He felt underdressed and vulnerable, like there would be nothing between him and Ian now except the early summer heat waves. Unlike the last time, Ian was the first passenger to step off the bus. He was dressed similarly to Mickey, wearing olive cargo pants that came down to his knees and a white wifebeater that was wet through with sweat. He had that same army duffel resting on his shoulder and two full backpacks, one on his other shoulder and the other in his hand. He spotted Mickey easily and walked toward him and, to Mickey’s utter relief, smiled like Mickey was the best goddamn thing in the world. He dropped his bags next to Mickey and threw his arms around him. The boys were soaked with sweat, but neither seemed to care.

                “Miss me?” Ian murmured into Mickey’s ear.

                “You wish,” Mickey scoffed, hugging Ian back tightly. They could never have hugged in public like this back in Chicago. Mickey would have been too squirmy and paranoid that someone might see. Ian pulled away with a laugh, grabbing the back of Mickey’s sweat dampened neck to pull him into a kiss. He made a moan of pleasant surprise into Mickey’s mouth before breaking the kiss.

                “You taste sweet.”

                “Got some ice cream earlier.”

                “And you didn’t save any for me?” Ian faked a pout.

                “I don’t share my sweets, better get used to it.” Mickey bent over to pick up the two backpacks Ian had been carrying, gesturing to the duffel for Ian to pick up. They started walking back to the apartment together.

                “I’d rather taste them from your lips anyway,” Ian said with a smug grin and Mickey had to laugh.

                “That’s the cheesiest shit I’ve ever heard. I shouldn’t even let you in my apartment if that’s the best you got.”

                “Our apartment,” Ian corrected tentatively. He sounded like he expected Mickey to turn around and smack him for saying it, and Mickey kind of expected it of himself as well. Instead he tilted his head back and gave Ian a half-smile.

                “It’ll be _my_ apartment again if you don’t get better lines than that. Honestly, Gallagher.” Mickey shook his head in mock disbelief and Ian caught up to walk beside him with a smile. They walked the rest of the way to their apartment in giddy silence. Once they made it inside, Mickey slid the door shut and dropped Ian’s bags. He pulled the duffel from Ian’s shoulder and put that on the floor too, pushing Ian over the back of the new couch he’d gotten and crawling on top of the redhead. Ian laughed and snaked his arms around Mickey’s waist while Mickey mouthed at his neck.

                “Shouldn’t I unpack?” Ian asked in a teasing tone.

                “You _live_ here, you can unpack _later_ ,” Mickey growled against Ian’s neck, now acutely aware that he hadn’t come in about four days as Ian had asked him not to. He was already pushing his hands up Ian’s shirt and relishing in the warmth of his freckled, sweat-slicked abs.

                “Hey, I just got here,” Ian insisted. He grabbed Mickey’s hands and pulled them from out of his shirt. “Slow. I want to go slow this time.” He paused, looking around him in sudden confusion.         

                “New couch?” Ian asked, blinking. Mickey made a spoilt sort of whine his throat that he kind of hated himself for and Ian laughed softly, trailing a hand up Mickey’s arm.

                “Okay, okay. Go to the bed, lie on your back. Clothes on.”

                “Fuckin’ bossy,” Mickey quipped, climbing off of Ian from the couch and walking to the bed to do as Ian said. Ian took his sweet goddamn time in getting to the bed. He first got up to get water, drinking it down before he went to open every window Mickey had because it was still so hot. Then he grabbed his bags by the door and heaved them up onto the couch. By the time he actually got to the bed, Mickey was antsy and about to start snapping at him. Ian’s fingertips inching up his shin calmed him down though, plus it was too hot to start getting worked up for no reason.

                “I know your body like the back of my hand, Mickey.” Ian cooed, splaying his palm out over Mickey’s thigh and bringing it up to his zipper. He slowly pulled the button free from its hole and unzipped Mickey’s jeans.

                “I know every scar, every birthmark. I know everything that makes you sigh and squirm, I’ve memorized the way your body reacts to every touch.” Ian’s mesmeric voice seemed to send Mickey into this headspace where everything Ian said and did had a crippling effect on him. His let his eyes fall shut, allowing Ian’s voice to direct his body toward waves of pleasure that Mickey had no idea words could give him.

                “Like I know exactly how your stomach tightens up and your breath hitches when I touch you, right here,” Ian lifted Mickey’s shirt halfway up his chest, ghosting his lips over the incredibly sensitive skin of the right side of Mickey’s pelvis, just an inch toward his belly button from his hipbone. Mickey’s lower abdomen muscles did in fact twitch and contract at the contact, and his next breath came out in a shudder. That one area of Mickey’s right pelvis always tickled at any sort of contact. His siblings used to use it against him to make him yelp and lose a fight and so he came to hate anybody touching him there. It wasn’t the same when Ian did it though. The ticklish feeling took on a hint of pleasure that Mickey could never describe. Ian seemed delighted at Mickey’s predicted reaction and pressed his lips against the spot, making Mickey’s stomach tighten again and his hips bucked up a bit. Ian kept his lips there, sucking and biting a bruise into the skin until it was good and dark. All the while Mickey mewled and fisted his hand in Ian’s hair, which had grown long enough for Mickey to really get a good hold on.

                “See?” Ian whispered after he decided the mark was dark enough.

                “But I still want to know more. I want to know the things _your own body_ doesn’t even know.” He kissed up Mickey’s stomach, tracing each of his pale ribs with his lips while he finished getting Mickey’s jeans off. There was a semi-circle shaped scar just under his left ribs that Ian paid special attention to, rolling his tongue around it while he tossed Mickey’s jeans away. Mickey had gotten the scar the first time he smoked when he was 12. He stole a cigarette from his dad’s pack in the middle of the night. He was halfway through it when he started to fall asleep. He made the dumb decision to lean back against the headboard of his bed and no more than a minute later, he nodded off and the cigarette fell from his lips and landed against his abdomen. He woke up from the searing pain of being burned and ever since then he had a bumpy white scar there. Ian left a small mark of his own just below the scar and moved on.       

                He slowly pushed Mickey’s shirt up over his head so the brunet was left in his boxers. Mickey was never into this slow “body appreciation” bullshit. Ian had expressed his interest to slow down like this before, but Mickey never let him and always insisted on “getting to the good part”, as he so eloquently put it. Mickey was starting to find that he didn’t mind it so much, and it definitely seemed to be making Ian happy too. But at the very least, he had to keep up appearances. It was just the principle of the thing.

                “Hurry up, would ya?” Mickey muttered half-heartedly. Ian simply said, “Patience,” and went about his worshipping Mickey’s body.

                Mickey’s body tensed up on instinct when Ian dared to go to Mickey’s “no man’s land”. Sometime after their fuck with the popsicle, Mickey expressed to Ian to never fucking touch his nipples ever again. Mickey had never been touched there save for Ian and the popsicle and maybe it was just because the popsicle was unbearably cold but it wasn’t a good experience. But now Ian’s warm mouth was licking and teething and sucking the sensitive nub in ways that made Mickey writhe. His tongue coiled around it expertly, just nipping the tip with his teeth. Mickey couldn’t bring himself to protest. Ian was being so attentive and so good to him, he really did know everything about Mickey’s body. Mickey didn’t expect to complain when Ian pulled away, but he almost did. He opened his eyes and lifted his head to whine but he stopped when he saw that Ian was pulling his own shirt off, the material sticking to his skin from his sweat before he threw it to the floor with Mickey’s clothes.

                Once he was down to his boxers he leaned down to kiss at Mickey’s neck but Mickey moved to intercept his lips in a heated kiss. Ian laid his body down on Mickey’s, cradling Mickey’s cheeks in his hands. Mickey was warm from his blush and the summer heat, and Ian’s lightly callused hands felt like home. Not Chicago home, not Milkovich home. _His_ home, a home he only had when Ian was there. His and Ian’s home. Mickey had thought by now he’d be yelling at Ian to just get it in him already, but this time Mickey was the one slowing them down. He coiled his arms and legs around Ian’s body, letting his hands touch his back and his sides as he pleased. It had been two months since he touched Ian and he had about sixty nights spent alone to make up for.

                Eventually Ian was the one getting impatient. He tugged at Mickey’s boxers after kicking off his own. Ian rolled off of Mickey so he could reach into the bedside table’s drawer, grinning when he sees that Mickey still has the warming lubricant he gave him. Ian was about to pour some on his fingers so he could get Mickey ready, but Mickey grabbed his wrist and took the lube.

                “What happened to slow?” Ian quirked an eyebrow as Mickey poured a generous amount of lube onto Ian’s cock, getting it slicked and ready.

                “You can fuck me slow, you're just taking to long to get there,” Mickey grumbled. Ian just shrugged, grinning at Mickey's eagerness.

                Mickey was painfully tight. He hadn’t fingered himself or anything since Ian’s hospitalization, so despite the amount of lube he used, it hurt when Ian started to push into him. Ian only got the head in before he stopped, waiting for Mickey’s wincing to subside before he pushed any more. He repeated this process until he was fully inside Mickey, the boy beneath him taking shuddering breaths. Mickey’s hands came up to rest on Ian’s shoulders, one finding its way into his mussed red hair. Mickey always had this trick of letting Ian know when he was staying still for too long, where he’d wrap his legs around Ian’s waist so his ankles were hooked at the small of his back and use his muscles to clench around Ian’s cock. Ian let out a hitched breath as Mickey tightened around him. He nodded and leaned down to kiss Mickey with more tenderness than the brunet has ever allowed him to use, slowly pulling out until he was almost completely out of him before thrusting back in, slow and deep.

                Mickey’s body was responding like never before. His back arched until Ian was at the perfect angle, his cock brushing against his prostate with every other thrust. He was sweating and clinging to Ian, relishing in the slow and deep rhythm Ian’s hips kept. Even when he sped up it was still gentle and satisfying in ways Mickey never felt before. The tip of Ian’s cock massaging his prostate and Ian’s hard abs rubbing against his cock had Mickey undone in a matter of minutes, moaning out breathlessly into Ian’s mouth as he spilled out over his and Ian’s stomachs. Ian panted against Mickey’s lips as he came just moments after. Mickey shuddered as he felt Ian’s warm release shooting inside him, a feeling he sometimes liked more than fucking because he knew he was the only one who could make Ian come like that. They were still kissing deeply when Ian said it, muffled meek and fearful words against Mickey’s lips. His body tensed as if he feared what outrageous reaction his lover would have this time.

                “I love you too,” Mickey murmured, and felt Ian’s lips twist into that lopsided grin that he desperately craved.


	17. The Tale of Nicky Markovich and Private Galloway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years go by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I can't believe this is the end. I don't know how I feel about the end but meh, I've been having an off week. Thank you for everyone's support and love on this story, you guys are sweethearts and thank you for sticking around! <3

“Who the fuck writes this _shit_?!” Ian stared at the manuscript he was supposed to help Mickey edit with a startled expression. He was constantly astonished by the writing in and of itself. The story-telling qualities of some of these authors were simply nonexistent and he was constantly amazed by the grammatical fallacies these people called contemporary novels. Bullshit.

“That's not even the worst one I've ever read,” Mickey said with a groan. “But whatever, we get paid and these fuckers get their shit upgraded to 'below average' so everyone wins.”

“Yeah, everyone but my IQ.” Ian rolled his eyes and went back to writing corrections in the margins of the manuscript.

“I'm sure you're still in the triple digits.”

“Yeah, but I'm dangerously low.”

“Yeah and mine gets dangerously low whenever you make me watch Double Impact.”

Ian was about to retort when his phone pinged with an incoming call. He leaned over Mickey's lap from his side of the bed to grab his phone, but he left it there and huffed when he saw the caller ID.

“Fucking Ned,” He groaned. Instead of moving back to his spot on the bed, he lied across Mickey's lap in resignation. “He calls every time he's in New York.”

“It's been five years. You'd think that old queen would take a fucking hint by now.” Mickey said, trailing his fingertips lightly along Ian's exposed back. His freckles had begun to fade and that pissed Mickey off to no end, for counting his partner's freckles often helped him calm down.

“It's not even that he wants me back, he thinks I owe him money.”

“Oh?” Mickey cocked an eyebrow. “And do you?”

“Well... Technically he  _gave_ me the money and said I didn't have to worry about paying him back. It's not my fault he didn't ask what I did with the money before he gave it to me!”

“How much do you owe him?” 

“... Five.”

“Five or five hundred?”

“... Thousand.”

Mickey almost choked on his own tongue. “What the fuck did you use five thou for?”

“Intercon-X wasn't cheap, you know. Especially for your overpriced ass,” Ian teased.

“Overpriced, huh?” Mickey grinned wickedly and used Ian's current position of vulnerability to spank his ass as hard as he could manage, making Ian yelp and scurry off his lap. Even through his boxers, his right ass cheek stung like a bitch.

“Worth every cent.”

“If only Ned thought so,” Mickey scoffed. 

He'd been fidgety all day and Ian didn't get it, and now his fingers were drumming on the margin of the manuscript he was reading. Ian had tried asking him about his anxiety several times already but the constant answers were “I'm fine”s and “fuck off”s.

“Yeah well, I'm probably just going to change my number.” Ian glanced over at Mickey for any kind of comment, but he was staring at the manuscript like it had just solved world hunger. There was sweat beading down his cheek and he was extremely focused. Ian sighed dramatically and went back to his own manuscript. 

It wasn't even five minutes before he was complaining again.

“I can't read this shit, it's unreadable! My eyes are melting Mick!” Ian groaned and tossed the manuscript to the middle of the bed. Mickey let out a shaky breath and held his manuscript out to him, staring straight ahead so he wouldn't meet Ian's eye.

“Read this one then.”

There were only four pages but they felt heavier in Ian's hands than he thought they should. He shrugged and looked at the title page of the manuscript.

 

 

On_Line

 

by Mick Toscani

 

 

_Based on a true story._

 

Ian shot Mickey a confused glance but Mickey wouldn't look at him. He kept his gaze fixed on the couch in the center of the apartment and chewed on the corner of his nail. Ian flipped to the second page.

 

_Picture this: a tatted up thug living in the heart of Chicago's South Side. He's short for all his cockiness but he's a goddamned firecracker. What he lacks in stature he makes up for in pure tenacity and drive. He's a street genius who got his first shiv for his 5_ _th_ _birthday, his first gun for his 8_ _th_ _. He joins his father and brothers on drug runs, and he's always hits the hardest spews the most slurs when they go out for a nice, family fag bash. All that hate he has for gays stemmed mostly from the fact that he is gay, too. He hates all the gays who are out, because they have something he thinks he'll never have. Freedom. So he kicks and punches with everything he has, and little does his father know that every time he screams his lungs out with words like “faggot” and “fairy” he is just screaming at himself for being such a fucking coward; for living so deep in the closet that he's choking on mothballs._

_To protect the identity of this man, we'll call him... Nicky. Nicky Markovich._

_It isn't bad enough that Nicky is a 'mo in the South Side of all places, but he just happens to have the biggest fag basher in the country for a dad. He's very aware that if his dad even finds a hint that he's gay, he'll be fucking dead. Besides, finding other gay men in the South Side who aren't glittery Geritol guzzlers from Boystown is a near impossibility. So he retreats even further into the closet, hoping that maybe if he just pretends he likes girls for a while, maybe he'll turn straight. He fucks girls often but soon it transitions from him trying to fix himself to him just making sure all the evidence points to his straight as an arrow sexuality. And it works for a while. He finds his thoughts about men don't come as often as before, and fuck is he happy._

_Until he finds Intercon-X. It's sometime after his 17 h birthday when he steals himself a cheap laptop to celebrate the occasion. It has a built in webcam and though at first he doesn't think he's ever going to use it, it turns out to be the road to his fucked up destiny._

_He looks through the jobs section of craigslist for more than an hour before he sees it._

_“Webcam site hiring gay/lesbian. $100+ a day.” Nicky grins, thinking he's just hit the jackpot. He sends in his application along with a photo of himself and is met with a speedy reply._

_You're hired._

_He is given all the information he needs and in no time he's all set up with his own profile and everything, selling the sight of his body to strangers on the internet who will never get to touch him. And part of him likes that. Part of him likes that no matter how much these guys pine after him, he will never be theirs. He will never be anyone's. It was just his less violent version of hating on gays; making them want what they'll never have._

_But then the whole system Nicky has going gets fucked up._

_He decides to take what money he's earned from Intercon-X and moves to New York, an impulsive but great decision. It means he can have his own place without worrying about family walking in on his sessions, and he can take on a lot more clients._

_Within his first week he has a shabby apartment, a job at a questionable publishing company, and twenty regular clients. All is turning pretty damn good and he can't believe what he's doing and that it's working out._

_That is, until he starts sessions with one of his new clients. Let's call him Private Galloway. Now, Private Galloway is a kinky motherfucker, and not in the same way Nicky's other clients are kinky. Most clients ask Nicky to be the dominant one, to punish or degrade or praise them. Not to mention most of his clients are bottoms. But Private Galloway is dominant and pushy, and he says and does all the things that make Nicky's knees knock and hands shake. And best of all, Private Galloway only tops. He's the only client that Nicky actually enjoys seeing, and their sessions are the only ones that really make him cum. Nicky quickly finds that now he's the one pining after someone he can't have and he's not fond of the feeling. Private Galloway seeps into his thoughts when he's with other clients, when he's alone, even when he's dreaming. And it all becomes too much and he thinks he's going to explode when he gets a video call from the redheaded private. He looks upset and Nicky just wants to help him without making it seem like he's at all attached to the kid. But he fucks up, and ends up suggesting that Private Galloway should visit him in New York._

_Galloway takes the suggestion very seriously._

_It isn't long before the private is stepping off a bus in New York and Nicky is taking his bag like some kind of stupid fucking gentleman and the more they walk together the more he hates himself. The self hatred melts away when they're finally in his apartment, and soon all their tension melts away too._

_They fuck like coked-up bunnies for two weeks and Nicky is happy, fucking happy as all hell. Until Private Galloway says it._

_I love you._

_The unfamiliar words grate on Nicky's ears like nails on a chalkboard and he feels like the sky is literally falling and the world is closing in on him. He acts like a fucking stupid asshole because he's scared. He thinks he's sparing himself any pain he'll feel when Private Galloway changes his mind and doesn't love him anymore. He doesn't even think about what his dumbass actions will do to Galloway, and he doesn't care._

_Until the sky actually falls._

_His sister, let's call her Amanda, tells him he needs to call Private Galloway immediately because it seems he hasn't taken his mood stabilizers in more than two weeks. The two weeks he spent with Nicky. She gives him a website and within moments he's logged in, watching the love of his life kill himself._

_The vodka gets knocked over while the paramedics get Private Galloway onto a stretcher and Nicky feels like he's drowning in that vodka. He's desperate, so he gets on the very next plane to Chicago._

_When he finally sees Galloway, strapped down in a hospital bed looking like his bones would break at the slightest touch, his mind is racing. He wants Galloway to understand that he's a fucking idiot and he's sorry, that he does love him but saying shit like that is hard for him because he's afraid. So fucking afraid. He'll do anything for Galloway, anything to prove that he's sorry. So he does the only thing he can._

_He comes out. Galloway may not have fully understood how scary the idea of loving and being loved was to Nicky, but he could appreciate the depth of his fear for his father finding out he's gay._

_So when Nicky makes out with Galloway right in front of his dad, he decides to give him another chance. Nicky fucking loves Galloway with every bit of his heart, and he intends to make sure he knows that now._

_Five years go by and Nicky still holds his breath when he sees Galloway in the morning, all shaggy bed hair and drowsy smiles. Five years go by and he still doesn't regret coming out to fix his relationship. Five years go by and he's stopped hating himself for everything. Five years go by and Nicky is still hopelessly and stupidly and gayly in love with Private Galloway._

_Five years go by and Nicky Markovich has a queston for Private Galloway._

 

Ian's fingers trembled as he flipped to the final page slowly, where he found the cause of the manuscript's heaviness. Taped to the blank white page was a silver engagement ring. The diamond was about the size of his thumbnail but Ian didn't care, it was still bigger and more beautiful than he ever hoped for. He looked at Mickey who still stared at the couch, his face beet red and the shadow of a vein appearing at his temple. He removed the ring from under the tape and dropped the manuscript. It slid into place on his finger perfectly. Ian opened his mouth to speak but Mickey cut him off.

“Don't say anything...” He muttered.

“I can't even say 'yes'?” Ian asked, cocking an eyebrow at Mickey who finally looked at him, his expression confused.

“Yes?”

“Yes.” Ian grinned wide and flung his arms around Mickey's neck and all the brunet's tension seemed to dissipate with that one word. He sighed shakily and wrapped his arms around Ian's middle.

“Yes? You know you can't change your mind, right? Or I will beat you to death with that fucking ring, I don't care how small it is--”

“I'm not changing my mind,” Ian insisted. “Not ever. And the ring's perfect. It's fucking perfect, Mick. You're perfect.”

“No, you are,” Mickey said lamely. He then added, “your dick's pretty nice too.”

Ian sighed, but his smile didn't falter. “You can't just be romantic for like five minutes without mentioning my dick?”

“This is what you're marrying; the horny moment-ruiner who makes stupid innuendos for everything.”

“And thinks of the cheesiest, lamest, cutest way to propose ever,” Ian teased. "But I wouldn't have you any other way." Mickey flushed dark red and shoved Ian back to his side of the bed. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he groaned. Ian didn't have to shut up because Mickey leaned over and covered the redhead's lips with his own, his hand trailing down to the ring on Ian's finger, just to feel it there and he could do nothing but smile. All he ever did with Ian was smile lately and he never wanted that to end. And it never would.

 


End file.
